"Come, McCabe," says he; "we'll get to work."
Say, I can hold in about so long, and then I've got to blow off or else bust a cylinder head. I'd had about enough of this "Come, McCabe" business, too. "Say, Fletchy," says I, "don't be in any grand rush. I ain't so anxious to take you on as you seem to think."
"What's that?" he spits out.
"You keep your ears open long enough and you'll hear it all," says I; for I was gettin' hotter an' hotter under the necktie. "I just want to say that I've worked up a grouch against this job durin' the last few minutes. I guess I'll chuck it up."
That seemed to go in deep. Mr. Dawes, he brings his eyes together until nothin' but the wrinkle keeps 'em apart, and he gets the hectic flush on his cheek bones. "I don't understand," says he.
"This is where I quit," says I. "That's all."
"But," says he, "you must have some reason."
"Sure," says I; "two of 'em. One's just gone out. That's the other," and I jerks my thumb at Maizie.
She'd been rollin' her eyes from me to Dawes, and from Dawes back to me. "What does this fellow mean by that?" says Maizie. "Fletcher, why don't you have him thrown out?"
"Yes, Fletcher," says I, "why don't you? I'd love to be thrown out just now!"