''E tried ter knock me down a purpose,' said Pincher, indicating his adversary.
'You're a liar!' retorted Parkin. 'It's like this,' he went on, trying to explain the situation. 'I was skatin' parst this man, w'en all of a sudden 'e puts out 'is foot an''——
'He did nothing of the kind,' Emmeline interrupted. 'It's him who's telling lies, and well he knows it.'
'Well, I can't 'ave these goings-on 'ere,' the manager returned, glaring at them all in turn. 'I must ask the ladies and gentlemen concerned to step outside and settle their differences elsewhere. Come on, please.'
'Come on, Mister Martin. We'd best go. I hate all this fuss,' Emmeline whispered. She moved off.
Pincher, nothing loath, unstrapped his other skate—one had already come off in his tumble—and followed her, but not before Parkin had hurled a final remark.
'Orl right, Mister Martin!' he said very venomously. 'I'll be even wi' you over this 'ere!'
'I'll take you on any day you likes!' Pincher threw back. 'I ain't afraid o' you, you great skinny lamplighter!'
'And I'll never speak to you again, Wilfrid Parkin,' Emmeline put in, 'Call yourself a gentleman! I don't think!' She snorted loudly to show her contempt.
'Come on, come on! Don't let's 'ave any more o' this, please!' from the manager.