So, fork over, and mebby you can give me back May Jane's pin you stole at the party the night Mr.Arthur came home.

Fork over, I say!' Too much astonished at first to speak, Harold stood staring at the man who had attacked him so brutally, while his hand closed tightly over the diamonds in his pocket, as if fearing they might be wrenched from him by force.
'Will you fork over, or shall I call the perlice ?' Peterkin asked.
'Call the police as soon as you like,' Harold replied, 'but I shall not give you the diamonds.' 'Then you own that you've got 'em! That's half the battle!' Peterkin said, coming up close to him, and looking at him with a meaning smile more detestable than any menace could have been.

'I know you've got 'em, and I can run you if I try, and then what will your doxie think of you! Will she refuse my Bill for a thief, and treat me as if I was dirt ?' 'What do you mean, sir ?' Harold demanded, feeling intuitively that by his _doxie_ Jerrie was meant, and feeling a great horror, too, lest by some means Jerrie's name should be mixed up with the affair before she had a chance to explain.
The reference to Billy was a puzzle, but Peterkin did not leave him in doubt.
'I mean that you think yourself very fine, and always have, and that are girl of the carpet-bag thinks herself fine, too, and refused my Bill for you, who hain't a cent in the world.

I seen it in her face when I twitted her on it, and she riz up agin me like a catamount.

But I'll be even with you both yit.