"All right—go in and sign up and leave your wad. Kid," he turned to Hugo, "you may think you're husky, but Ole is a killer. He's six nine in his socks and he weighs two hundred and eighty. He'll mash you."
"I don't think so," Hugo repeated.
"Well, you'll be meat. We'll put you second on the list. And the lights'll go out fast enough for yuh."
Hugo followed Izzie and reached him in time to see a fifty-dollar bill peeled from a roll which was extracted with great intricacy from Izzie's clothes. "I thought you hadn't eaten for two days!"
"It's God's truth," Izzie answered uneasily. "I was savin' this dough—an' it's lucky, too, isn't it?"
Hugo did not know whether to laugh or to be angry. He said: "And you'd have let me take a poke in the jaw from that waiter. You're a hell of a guy, Izzie."
Izzie moved his eyes rapidly. "I ain't so bad. I'm bettin' on you, ain't I? An' I got you a chancet at the Swede, didn't I?"
"How'd you know that waiter couldn't kill me?"
"Well—he didn't. Anyhow, what's a poke in the jaw to a square meal, eh?"
"When the other fellow gets the poke and you get the meal. All right, Izzie. I wish I thought Ole was going to lick me."