The nervous muscles about each mouth twitched with a forced smile of mockery.
"Well, what deh hell yer goin' teh do ?" gritted Jimmie.
Pete stepped warily back, waving his hands before him to keep the men from coming too near.
"Well, what deh hell yer goin' teh do ?" repeated Jimmie's ally.

They kept close to him, taunting and leering.

They strove to make him attempt the initial blow.
"Keep back, now! Don' crowd me," ominously said Pete.
Again they chorused in contempt.

"Oh, hell!" In a small, tossing group, the three men edged for positions like frigates contemplating battle.
"Well, why deh hell don' yeh try teh t'row us out ?" cried Jimmie and his ally with copious sneers.
The bravery of bull-dogs sat upon the faces of the men.

Their clenched fists moved like eager weapons.
The allied two jostled the bartender's elbows, glaring at him with feverish eyes and forcing him toward the wall.
Suddenly Pete swore redly.