"Yes," said Dink, thinking only of the ban of excommunication.
"Why, you're a regular cross-sawed, triple-hammered, mule-kick, beef-fed, rarin'-tearin' John L. Sullivan, ain't you?" said the exponent of the double adjective in rapid admiration.
"What do you mean?"
"Why, you're the cuss that smeared the Angel, swallowed the Canary, and bumped Tough McCarty, all at once."
"Oh, yes."
"My dear boy, permit me—you're it, you're the real thing."
Dink, with a feeling of wonder, shook hands, saying:
"Well, they don't think so much of it at the Green."
"Anything wrong?"