“Canaille! liar!” shouted Le Gros; “if I have, you—”
And as the words issued from his lips he sprang forward, knife in hand, with the evident design of taking the life of his accuser.
“Kape cool!” cried the latter, springing out of reach of his assailant; and with his own blade bared, placing himself on the defensive. “Kape cool, ye frog-atin’ son av a gun, or ye’ll make mate for us sooner than ye expected, ay, before yez have time to put up a pater for yer ugly sowl, that stans most disperately in nade ov it.
“Now,” continued the Irishman, after he had fairly placed himself in an attitude of defence; “come an whiniver yer
loike. Larry O’Gorman is riddy for ye, an’ another av the same at yer dhirty back. Hoch,—faugh-a-ballah,—hiloo,—whallabaloo!”