There was an outbreak of laughter.
"You was goin' t' help," said Joe, addressing Tom Linley.
A moment of silence followed.
"You was goin' t' help," the fallen bully repeated, with large emphasis on the pronoun.
"Help?" Tom inquired, sparring for wind as it were.
"Yes, help."
"You was licked 'fore I had time."
"Didn't dast—that's what's the matter—didn't dast," said big Joe, with a tone of irreparable injury.
"Wouldn't 'a' been nigh ye fer a millyun dollars," said Tom, soberly.
"Why not?"