"I ain't talkin' any, am I? Watcher growlin' 'bout? I'm goin' home."
"No, ye ain't."
"Yes, I am."
A scuffle followed these words, and Douglas could dimly see the forms of the two men as they rolled and tumbled about on the ground. Then some one pulled them apart and administered a resounding cuff upon their ears.
"Stop fightin', ye fools," was the peremptory order. "De'ye want to spoil the whole show to-night?"
"Who's spoilin' the show?"
"You are."
"I ain't. I want to go home. I'm sick of this business."
"Ye'r not goin' till the guy comes, I tell ye."
"When's he comin'?"