"Hello, Sim," says I. He never moved a muscle.
"Don't you know me, Sim?" says I.
"Go 'way," says he, without moving his lips.
That made me mad as a hornet, and I says:
"Go 'way? Not much. Who is the wall-eyed, bandy-legged, beer-guzzling harp, who borrowed twenty dollars from me, out in Chicago?"
He never said a word. That got me madder.
I continued to pay my respects in this fashion:
"You miserable, consumptive-looking ingrate. You sea-sick-looking, despicable turkey hen; I'd like to kill you. You mean to rob me."
"You lie," shrieked Sim, now warmed up.
Then I had to run. He caught up a big glass case of butterflies and heaved it in my direction.