"Faix, he did. The gintleman wasn't kilt at all. He came out of it with only a sore head, and left the public house all alone by himself."
"Haven't you heard of him since?"
"Not one word; and I don't know where in the world is he."
"And he didn't pay you?" I added, withdrawing my hand empty from my pocket.
"He did not thin."
"He served you just right, then," I continued.
"Aren't you going to pay me my tin dollars?" said he, looking uglier than usual.
"I am not—not I."
"Begorra, thin, I will inform the police," replied he, savagely. "You struck the gintleman on the head with the wrinch, and I'll have you in the Tombs."
"What's the trouble!" asked Mr. Loraine, who had been impatiently waiting for me in another part of the room, as he stepped up to the hackman, his attention attracted by the fellow's anger.