Clarence was all sniffles, and rubbed at the injured arm. But Ikey had no mind to be blamed undeservedly. He squared about upon Sue with flashing eye. "But, Momsey, he did said it!" he repeated.
Sue tightened her grip on his cassock. "And, oh, my soul, such grammar!" she mourned. "'He did said it!' You mean, He do said—he do say—he done—oh, now you've got me twisted!"
"Just de same, he called it to me," asserted Ikey.
"I never, I tell you! I never!"
"Ah! Ah!" Once more Sue struggled to hold them apart. "And what, Mr.
Ikey, did he call you?"
"He calls me," cried the insulted Ikey, "—he calls me a pie-faces!—Ach!"
"And what did you call him?"
"I didn't call him not'ing!" answered Ikey, beginning to wail again at the very thought of his failure to do himself justice; "not—von—t'ing!"
"But"—with a wisdom born of long choir experience—"you must have said something."
"All I says," chanted Ikey, "—all I says is, 'You can't sing. What you do is——'" And lowering and raising his head, he emitted a long, lifelike bray.