Morrison broke in upon Lanigan's mumbled threats. "Mind your manners,
Joe!"
"But he hit you!"
The mayor picked up his garments, one by one, inspected them, and dusted them with his palm; then he pulled them on. The crowd gazed at him.
"He hit you!" Lanigan insisted, bellicosely. "When a man hits me, I lick him!"
"You're a good fighter, Joe," agreed His Honor, running his forearm about his silk hat to smooth the nap. "But let me tell you something! Unless you put yourself in better shape there'll be a fellow some day that you'll want to lick, and you won't be able to lick him, and you'll be almighty sorry because you can't turn the trick."
"Show me the feller, Mister Mayor!"
"Go look in the glass, Joe."
"Lick myself—is that what you mean, sir?"
"Sure! If you can do it when it ought to be done, you'll have the right to feel rather proud of yourself."
He invited Blanchard with a side wag of his head and led the way from the hall.