"Feller?" snarled the Old Un, "why you—"
"I repeat," said Mr. Brimberly with dignified deliberation, "I repeat as you are a very low, vulgar little feller!"
The Old Un clenched his fists.
"Right-o!" he nodded cheerily. "That's done it! F' that I'm a-goin' t' punch ye in th' perishin' eye-'ole!" And he advanced upon the points of his toes, shoulders hunched, and head viciously outthrust.
"My word!" exclaimed Mr. Brimberly, retreating rather precipitately, "this is very discomposing, this is! I shall have to call the perlice."
"Perlice!" snarled the Old Un, fiercer than ever, "you won't have nothing t' call with when I've done wi' ye. I'm goin' t' jab ye on th' beak t' begin with, then I'll 'ook my left t' your kidneys an' swing my right to your p'int an' crumple ye up with a jolt on your perishin' solar plexus as 'll stiffen you till th' day o' doom!"
"'Oly angels!" murmured Mr. Brimberly, glancing hastily about.
"Then while you lay bathed in 'orrible gore, I'm goin' t' twist them whiskers into a 'angman's knot!"
"This is most distressing!" sighed Mr. Brimberly.
"Then," continued the Old Un, grinding his remaining teeth, "I'm a-goin' t' tread your face in an' dance on y'r blighted stummick. Arter that—"