“Those clothes don’t look like much, for they’ve been wrapped upon the ship, but they’re new, old sport.”
“You needn’t call me such names as that, young man,” said the pawnbroker.
“That’s nothing,” laughed the sailor jovially, “for when a man gets as old and shriveled as you are it shows that he’s been something of a sport in his life.”
The pawnbroker looked furtively about.
“What you want on the clothes?”
“What’ll you give?”
“I’m afraid you stole them.”
The sailor drew up his big form slowly and sent his sleeve up to his elbows.
“Oh, you do, do you? Well, I’ll smash your face if you talk that way to me, you dirty old Jew.”
The pawnbroker had the chance he wanted, for he shouted out loud and his clerk came running in.