“No, I’m not. I’m the fellow that wants to go to Christiania. We ought to have kept to the right at the last station.”
“I insist on going this way.”
“I don’t object; you can go whichever way you please,” added the cashier, very gently.
“But we mean to keep the party together; and we might as well fight it out here as in any other place.”
Clyde threw off his overcoat, as though he intended to give a literal demonstration of his remark.
“I don’t consider you as one of the party,” added Burchmore.
“Don’t you?”
“No, I do not. You don’t belong to our ship, and I don’t pay your bills.”
“No matter for that. If you are not willing to go the way the rest of us wish to go, I’ll pound you till you are willing.”
“No, no, Old England; we don’t want anything of that sort. Burchmore is a first-rate fellow,” interposed the politic Sanford.