Having sent for a considerable consignment of books, and, due to the inability to collect from a number who spent their money on the fourth, Sidney found his finances depleted. Room rent, by paying in advance was due the following Monday, so, taking himself to one of his subscribers among the servants, he was able to collect only a dollar that day. Half of this he divided with his landlady, promising to pay her the remainder on the morrow. He did so, but John Moore desired to question in regard to the same. The truth of it was that John Moore wanted the dollar, and had figured on it, in order to shoot craps on Saturday night, as was his usual custom. So John came into the room where Sidney sat reading. It happened that Wyeth was in no pleasant frame of mind, and, calling was thus not in order that evening. Perhaps John Moore did not know this, but he did a few minutes later. He wished to know what Wyeth was going to do about the rent.
Wyeth looked at him. It wasn't a very pleasant look, to say the least. And Wyeth was one of these creatures who could not stand to be dunned. Since he had already made arrangement with the real person, he regarded Moore out of eyes now that narrowed with anger. He said something, sharp and quick, and stinging. Thereupon, a storm ensued.
"I aised you a civil question," complained Moore.
"And I tell you that I have already arranged with the landlady regarding the rent, and don't want any argument with you!"
"Then I ais you to git yo' things and get out!" cried Moore, with an air of finality.
"And I tell you that I will do no such thing; moreover, you, insofar as I'm concerned," cried Wyeth heatedly, "can go to Hell!"
"Look out, look out!" cried Moore. "I'm a-comin', I'm a-comin'."
"Not very fast as I can see, standing there in the doorway," said Wyeth, now composed, and reseating himself from where he had risen. And yet he felt, as he had never felt before, like fighting—with his fists.
"Hole me Mary, hole me!" cried Moore, moving many ways—in the doorway. The other waited—in vain.