"Motol Matt my boss, allee same," insisted the Chinese boy.
"When you all git hiahed by Motor Matt?" demanded the darky.
"Long time, allee same Flisco."
"Den dat let's yo' out, yaller mug. Motor Matt done hiahed me fo' days ergo, at two dollahs er day. Skun out. Doan' yo' try cuttin' me loose from dat 'ar job."
The darky took a step downward, but the Celestial planted himself firmly and put up his fists. Once more there was a hitch in proceedings, but the affair was growing more ominous.
"Ah shuah hates tuh mangle yo' up," breathed the darky, "but de 'sponsibility fo' what's done gwine tuh happen b'longs on yo' had en not on mine."
The Chinese lifted his yellow hands and crossed two fingers in front of his face, then, in a particularly irritating manner, he snorted at the black boy through his fingers.
That was about as much as flesh and blood could stand. The colored lad was so full of talk that it just gurgled in his throat.
"Dat's de mos' insulatin' thing what ebber happened tuh me!" he finally managed to gasp. "By golly, Ah doan' take dat f'om nobody. Dat snortin' talk Ah won't stan', dat's all."
"Blackee boy makee heap talk," taunted the Chinese; "him 'flaid makee hit with hands."