“Liar!”
Yim! Yim! and stomach-pump and brandy bottle flashed like meteors.
“Fight! fight! form a ring! fair play!”
“You're holding my friend.”
“You lie! You rascal!”
Vim! Vim! from a new brace of combatants.
“He's gouging my brother! I must help! foul play!”
“Let go my hair!” Vim! Vim! and a triplet went at it.
I stopped rubbing, and looked on with amazement. “Gentlemen, this is unprofessional! 'tis undignified! 'tis disgraceful! stop, I command you!” I yelled, but no one regarded me; some one struck me, and away I pitched into the whole lot promiscuously, having no partner, the patient dying on the bed whilst we were studying out his case.
“Fight! fight!” I heard yelled in the street, as I had finished giving a lick all round, and could hardly keep pitching into the mirror to whip my reflection, I wanted a fight so bad.