"Ho you, Joe," cried the old man, scowling, "did ye bring me that 'bacca?"
"S'posin' I didn't?" demanded Joe.
"Then dang ye—twice!"
"An' s'posin' I did?"
"Then—give it 'ere!"
"An' that's his gratitood, sir!" growled Joe, shaking his head and giving the packet into the old man's clutching fingers. "A unnat'ral old bag-o'-bones, that's what 'e is, sir!"
"Bones!" croaked the Old Un viciously. "Bag-o'-bones am I? Yah—look at ye'self—pork, that's what you are, all run to pork an' blubber an' fat, Joe, me pore lad—"
"Fat!" growled Joe. "Y' know I ain't fat; y' know I'm as good a man as ever I was—look at that, you old sarpent!" And he smote himself with mighty fist—a blow to fell an ox. "Fat, am I?"
"As—lard!" nodded the old man, filling half an inch of blackened clay pipe with trembling fingers, "as a 'og—"
"Now my crumbs—" began Joe fiercely.