"Fool or not, gold don't rust, I'm telling ye Buck—"
"Then take that from a fool!" And Buckrow struck him square in the face with his fist, hurling him back on my shoulders, so that I fell forward on my hands.
"That's rotten mean, Bucky," I heard Petrak whining. "That's rotten mean in here in the dark, Bucky."
"That is rotten mean, Petrak," said Thirkle indignantly. "I wouldn't stand for that if I were you."
"Oh, ye wouldn't, hey? Well, we'll see what ye stand for soon's ye come out into the clear—that's what we'll see, Thirkle."
"It's rotten mean," whimpered Petrak. "I wouldn't do the likes o' that to ye, Bucky; not if ye never agreed along with me—it's rotten mean."
"Ye'll get worse as that is. Now, does gold rust, ye little runt? Say it!
Does gold rust?"
"That's hardly fair, Bucky," said Thirkle. "That's hardly fair on the little chap after he's stood by ye so long."
"Fair enough for me, Thirkle, and fair enough for ye it'll be when ye come out."
"What do ye mean by that, Buck?" demanded Thirkle, speaking over my shoulder; and then he whispered to Petrak: "Give it to him, Red—now's yer chance. Quick, lad!"