“Damn their cheek!” began the Englishman.
“See here,” cried Elliott sharply, “you’re only a nouveau, and you’d better shut up till you’ve been here long enough to talk.”
“In other words,” said Clifford, “don’t buck against custom.”
“But I cahn’t see it,” said the nouveau, brushing his dusty trousers. “I don’t see it at all, you know. Damn their cheek!”
At this moment the week-weaned Frenchman shoved up to Clifford.
“What did you mean by interfering? Eh! You English pig.”
Clifford looked at him with contempt. “What do you want, my little Nouveau?”
“Nouveau!” spluttered the Gaul, “Nouveau, eh!” and he made a terrific lunge at the American, who was sent stumbling backward, and slipping, fell heavily.
The Frenchman gazed around in triumph, but his grin was not reflected on the faces of his compatriots. None of them would have changed places with him.
Clifford picked himself up deliberately. His face was calm and mild as he walked up to his opponent, who hurriedly put himself into an attitude of self-defense.