"Well, well—God bless you then. Don't let them fellers run it on ye," and Mike waved his hand and turned his back. Outside Michael held the door open with a foot, and when Scholar came out, Michael, withdrawing the foot, seemed to have some difficulty in balancing. Scholar caught his arm.
"What are you holdin' me for?" said Michael. "There's nothing the matter with me!"
He persisted with this remark all the way to the corner in the rear of the others, varying it now and then with: "I'm all right." At the corner were two men that Scholar recognized; one of them was the man with whom Mike had had half a mind to grapple, the thrower-down of the gauntlet; the other one was of the ejected gang. The former caught Scholar's eye in the lamplight.
"Is the big fellow there still?" he asked.
Cockney, looking over his shoulder a few paces ahead, turned about, pausing in his singing of "Longer fer me!" and came back, craning like a thin duck.
"Wot does 'e say? Wot does 'e say?"
The two men eyed him coldly.
"Wot does 'e say?" repeated Cockney.
"He wants to know if Mike's in there still," said Michael.
"Wot does 'e want Mike for? Wot do you want Mike for?"