"Oh, is that what he's after whispering?" said Mike.
The stubby Michael caught Scholar by the elbow and drew him away from the inquisitor, who went back to his place at the bar to drain his glass in an offended manner.
"You see, it's like this," began Michael, swaying ever so little towards Scholar. "What these fellows do is this: one of them gets up a row with you, and one of the others comes in as if he was separatin' you. 'Pay no attention to him,' he says. 'Pay no attention to him. You come along of me. You're a good man wantin' to fight when you're insulted, but he's drunk. Pay no attention to him. Come along of me.' And the other fellows say: 'Come along of us!' But they're all of the one push, see? And when you go off with them to talk about the things you would be doin' if they hadn't separated you, ye never know when it's goin' to end. The way that them landsharks goes around looking for honest seamen——"
A roaring bellow from Mike interrupted this. Evidently he had spoken before.
"I'm askin' ye—I'm askin' ye—I'm askin' yez—are ye goin' to have another drink?" he demanded. "Whisperin' like a lot of girls!"
While he was roaring thus, entered two men, blue-capped and shabbily attired, clean as to face and half the neck, but showing tide marks of scanty washings.
"Hallo, Mike!" one of them said.
"Well, bejabbers, and how's yourself?" answered Mike. Here was clearly not a case of new and fraudulent friends, for Mike evidently knew them both; having shaken hands with the first he required no introduction to the second, extended his great hand, shook warmly, and cried: "How are you? Have a drink with me!"
"Have a drink with me," said the man who had first hailed Mike, and he ordered and paid for three glasses of beer. Suddenly he glanced over his shoulder at the other men.
"Are these fellows——" he began.