"Be ye goin' to marry Flea Cronk?"
"Who's been carryin' tales to ye?" shouted Lem, bounding from his chair. "Ye better be a mindin' yer own affairs, or ye'll be havin' nothin' but bats in yer head till ye die. Scoot for hum! Ye hear?"
"Yep; but I ain't goin' jest yet. Ye want to hear 'bout Flea, don't ye?"
"Yep."
"Then set down an' I'll tell ye."
Lem, growling impatience, seated himself.
"Flea Cronk ain't for you, Lem!"
"Who said as how she ain't?" demanded Lem, starting up. The cat spat viciously, startled by the sudden movement. "I wish ye'd left that damn cat to hum! I hain't no notion to be bit by no cat."
"Kitty won't bite ye if ye let me alone—will ye, Kitty? I ain't never afeard of nothin' when I got him with me—be I, Kitty, pretty pussy?"
"Stop a cooin', ye bughouse woman," snarled Crabbe, "and tell me what ye got to!"