Barber held up a hand. "This ain't no place t' fight," he protested. "The old man'd hear."
"Y' can't git outen it that-a-way!" shouted One-Eye, arms in the air. "They's miles o' room outside! Come down into the yard! Mosey! Break trail! Vamose!" He waved the other out.
Buoyed up by so much excitement, Johnnie managed to stand for a moment. "One-Eye!" he cried, all gratitude and pride; and, "One-Eye!" Cis echoed, her palms together in a dumb plea for him to do his best.
The Westerner gave her a look which promised every result that lay in his power. Then with a jerk of the head at Father Pat, and again "Yip-yipping" lustily, he bore down upon the grinning longshoreman, who was filling the hall doorway.
They met, and seized each other. Big Tom took One-Eye by either shoulder, those great baboon hands clamping themselves over the top joints of the Westerner's arms. The latter had Barber by the front of his coat and by an elbow. For a moment they hung upon the sill. Then, pivoting, they swung beyond it. As Father Pat closed the door upon them, at once there came to the ears of the trio in the kitchen, the sounds of a rough-and-tumble battle.
CHAPTER XXXIII
ONE-EYE FIGHTS
THOSE sounds of combat which penetrated to an anxious kitchen were deep, rasping breathings, muttered exclamations and grunts, a shuffling of feet that was not unlike a musicless dance, a swish-swishing, as if the Italian janitress were mopping up the hall floor, and a series of soft poundings.
Yet the battle itself was not amounting to much. In fact, to speak strictly, no fight was going on at all.