Git 'em quick! I'll fight wi' che! I'll fight wid anyt'ing, too! See?
I'll fight yeh wid a knife an' fork if yeh say so! I'll fight yer
standin' up er sittin' down!" Patsy delivered this intense oration with
sweeping, intensely emphatic gestures, his hands stretched out
eloquently, his jaw thrust forward, his eyes glaring.
"Ah!" cried the little Cuban joyously. "Ah, you are in very pretty
temper. Ah, how I will cut your heart in two piece, my dear, d-e-a-r
friend." His eyes, too, shone like carbuncles, with a swift, changing
glitter, always fastened upon Patsy's face.
The two peacemakers were perspiring and in despair. One of them blurted
out--
"Well, I'll be blamed if this ain't the most ridiculous thing I ever
saw."
The other said--"For ten dollars I'd be tempted to let these two
infernal blockheads have their duel."
Patsy was strutting to and fro, and conferring grandly with his friends.
"He took me for a muff. He t'ought he was goin' t' bluff me out, talkin'
'bout swords. He'll get fooled." He addressed the Cuban--"You're a fine
little dirty picter of a scrapper, ain't che? I'll chew yez up, dat's
what I will!"
There began then some rapid action. The patience of well-dressed men is
not an eternal thing. It began to look as if it would at last be a fight
with six corners to it. The faces of the men were shining red with
anger. They jostled each other defiantly, and almost every one blazed
out at three or four of the others.
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