“It’s quite right,” said a bystander. “You can believe me, can’t you?”
“When’s it going to be?” asked Morgan.
“I don’t know,” said the other, turning away.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourselves,” said Morgan, warmly. “It’s bad enough to make a couple of men fight what don’t want to without telling a lot of lies about it.”
“It’s none o’ your business,” said Larkins, surlily. “Ask no questions and you’ll hear no lies. You’ll get some idea into that ’ead of yours and then go and split, and have it stopped.”
“I never told of anything in my life,” said Morgan, sharply. “My mates here know that. That ain’t my way. My way’s persuasion and example, not forcing people to do what I want.”
“There’s a purse o’ fifteen and six made up for the winner,” said Larkins, turning away and whispering the news to Gubbs. “The spot for the picnic’ll be made known later on. Them what’s in the know is respectfully asked to keep their mouths shut to save trouble all round.”
He went back to his bar, and the other men, after standing about a bit, strolled off one by one to their teas. Mr. Morgan was one of the last to leave, and went as far as Tarbut’s door with him to tell him an anecdote of a man who was struck behind the ear in a fight and killed on the spot.
A comfortable meal and a good night’s rest restored Mr. Gubbs to his wonted serenity of mind, and he awoke at six o’clock feeling determined to shake hands with Tarbut and let the matter drop. A persistent hammering at the door, which gradually got louder and louder, interfering with his meditations, he roused Mrs. Gubbs, who was sleeping peacefully, and with some asperity bade her get up and stop it.
“It’s Mr. Larkins, Joe,” said the lady, hastily withdrawing her head from the window.