“I axe ye,” shouted Soane, “what t’hell ye done to Dulcie!”
“Vat I haff done already yet?” queried the one-eyed man, not looking up, and continuing to piece together the torn letter. “Vell, I tell you, Soane; dot kid she keep dot letter in her handt, und I haff to grab it. Sacré saligaud de malheur! Dot letter she tear herself in two. Pas de chance! Your kid she iss mad like tigers! Voici—all zat rests me de la sacré-nom-de sacrèminton de lettre——”
“Ah, shut up, y’r Dootch head-cheese!—wid y’r gillipin’ gallopin’ gabble!” cut in Soane wrathfully. “D’ye mind phwat ye done? It’s not petty larceny, ye omadhoun!—it’s highway robbery ye done—bad cess to ye!”
The one-eyed man shrugged:
“Pourtant, I must haff dot letter——” he observed, undisturbed by Soane’s anger; but Soane cut him short again fiercely:
“You an’ y’r dommed letter! Phwat do you care if I’m fired f’r this night’s wurruk? Y’r letter, is it? An’ what about highway robbery, me bucko! An’ me off me post! How’ll I be explaining that? Ah, ye sicken me entirely, ye Dootch square-head! Now, phwat’ll I say to them? Tell me that, Max Freund! Phwat’ll I tell th’ aygent whin he comes runnin’? Phwat’ll I tell th’ po-lice? Arrah, phwat’t’hell do you 160 care, anyway?” he shouted. “I’ve a mind f’r to knock the block off ye——”
“You shall say to dot agent you haff gone out to smell,” remarked Max Freund placidly.
“Smell, is it? Smell what, ye dom——”
“You smell some smoke. You haff fear of fire. You go out to see. Das iss so simble, ach! Take shame, you Irish Sinn Fein! You behave like rabbits!” He pointed to his arrangement of the torn letter on the table: “Here iss sufficient already—regardez! Look once!” He laid one long, soiled and bony finger on the fragments: “Read it vat iss written!”
“G’wan, now!”