"Yaw, for de prets," continues the baker; "nine tollars foof'ey cents. I vos heert you was movin', so I tink maybees you was run away."
"Mistake, sir, I don't owe you a cent; never bought bread of you!"
"Vaw's! Tonner a' blitzen!—don't owes me!"
"Not a cent!" says Flannigan, standing—hammer in hand, upon the top of the table.
"Vaw's! you goin' thrun away and sheet me, ah?"
"Look here, my friend, you are under a mistake. I've just moved in here, my name's Flannigan, you never saw me before, and of course I never dealt with you!—don't you see?"
"Tonner a' blitzen!" cries the enraged baker, "I see vat you vant, to sheet me out mine preet, you raskills—I go fetch the con-stabl's, de shudge, de sher'ffs, and I have mine mon-ney in mine hands!" and off rushes the enraged man of dough, upsetting the various small articles piled up on the bureau in the hall—by wanging to the door.
Poor Flannigan felt quite "put out;" he came very near dashing his hammer at the Dutchman's head, but hoping there was an end to the annoyances he kept at work, until another ring of the bell announced another call. The Irish girl went to the door; Flannigan listens—
"Mr. Flash in?"
"Yees!" says Biddy, supposing Flash and Flannigan was the same in Dutch. "Would yees come in, sir," and in comes the young man.