“I want to speak to Pybus,” said White, glaring at the man, who on ordinary days would have touched his hat to him.
“Then want’ll be your master,” the other retorted, with a wink. And when White tried to push by him, the man gave him the shoulder.
“Let me pass,” White foamed. No thought of Cobbett now, had the agent! These miserable upstarts, their insolence, their certainty of triumph fired his blood. “Let me pass!” he repeated.
“See you d——d first!” the other answered bluntly. “Your game’s up, old cock! Your master has held the pit long enough, but his time’s come.”
“If you don’t——”
“If you put your nose in here, we’ll pitch you over the rail!” the other declared.
White almost had a fit. Fortunately White-Hat Williams himself appeared at this moment: and White appealed to him.
“Mr. Williams,” he said, “is this your safe conduct?”
“I gave none,” with a grin.
“Pybus did.”