CHRIS—[Scornfully.] Yes, you vas hell of fallar, hear you tal it!
BURKE—[Angrily.] You'll be calling me a liar once too often, me old bucko! Wasn't the whole story of it and my picture itself in the newspapers of Boston a week back? [Looking CHRIS up and down belittlingly.] Sure I'd like to see you in the best of your youth do the like of what I done in the storm and after. 'Tis a mad lunatic, screeching with fear, you'd be this minute!
CHRIS—Ho-ho! You vas young fool! In ole years when Ay was on windyammer, Ay vas through hundred storms vorse'n dat! Ships vas ships den—and men dat sail on dem vas real men. And now what you gat on steamers? You gat fallars on deck don't know ship from mudscow. [With a meaning glance at BURKE.] And below deck you gat fallars yust know how for shovel coal—might yust as veil vork on coal vagon ashore!
BURKE—[Stung—angrily.] Is it casting insults at the men in the stokehole ye are, ye old ape? God stiffen you! Wan of them is worth any ten stock-fish-swilling Square-heads ever shipped on a windbag!
CHRIS—[His face working with rage, his hand going back to the sheath-knife on his hip.] Irish svine, you!
BURKE—[Tauntingly.] Don't ye like the Irish, ye old babboon? 'Tis that you're needing in your family, I'm telling you—an Irishman and a man of the stokehole—to put guts in it so that you'll not be having grandchildren would be fearful cowards and jackasses the like of yourself!
CHRIS—[Half rising from his chair—in a voice choked with rage.] You look out!
BURKE—[Watching him intently—a mocking smile on his lips.] And it's that you'll be having, no matter what you'll do to prevent; for Anna and me'll be married this day, and no old fool the like of you will stop us when I've made up my mind.
CHRIS—[With a hoarse cry.] You don't! [He throws himself at BURKE, knife in hand, knocking his chair over backwards. BURKE springs to his feet quickly in time to meet the attack. He laughs with the pure love of battle. The old Swede is like a child in his hands. BURKE does not strike or mistreat him in any way, but simply twists his right hand behind his back and forces the knife from his fingers. He throws the knife into a far corner of the room—tauntingly.]
BURKE—Old men is getting childish shouldn't play with knives. [Holding the struggling CHRIS at arm's length—with a sudden rush of anger, drawing back his fist.] I've half a mind to hit you a great clout will put sense in your square head. Kape off me now, I'm warning you! [He gives CHRIS a push with the flat of his hand which sends the old Swede staggering back against the cabin wall, where he remains standing, panting heavily, his eyes fixed on BURKE with hatred, as if he were only collecting his strength to rush at him again.]