“I’m goin’ in,” declared Martin Kelly, his thick voice raising angrily, “an’ what’s more I’m a-goin’ to lick Larry Murphy! He’s done me dirt; an’ I’m a-goin’ to do him up.”
He tried to open the door, but McGonagle whirled him off the steps.
“Ye ain’t a-goin’ to kick up no muss here, and that goes,” said Goose, decisively; “youse must be daffy, ain’t ye?”
Kelly had just aimed a wild blow at McGonagle when Hogan pounced upon him.
“So it’s yezsilf, Martin,” sneered the policeman; “it’s a great foighter yez are gittin’ to be!”
“Take yer paws off a-me, Hogan,” growled the drunken youth, struggling. “Me old man’ll have youse broke for this.”
“If ye don’t quit makin’ a monkey av yezsilf it’s a ride in the wagon yez’ll git.”
“Take the lush away,” begged McGonagle; “he’ll have the whole bloomin’ neighbourhood up.”
The expostulating Martin was hustled down the street just as Mary Carroll opened the door.
“It’s on’y Mart Kelly,” Goose informed her, lifting his hat.