One of them was clean-shaven, the other wore a moustache.
Both had the deep blue shadows of the day's growth of beard upon the chin and, in that morbid yellow lamplight, their eyes were sunk in hollows dull and black as charcoal.
"Now, who's attending to Morrison ?" said the master of ceremonies.
Two men stepped forward out of the crowd.
"Well--get over there at that side.

Got yer towels?
And the men for Tucker?
Come on! Come on!" He relegated them to their positions, and the little group of men fell away, leaving the two antagonists alone in an open space.
"Now shake 'ands, gentlemen, please," said the master.

"'Urry up for Gawd's sake--I'm getting stiff, I am." They made no motion of obedience, and he looked from one to the other.
Even from their window, they could see in his face the clouds of the storm that was about to burst.
"Oh, I can understand now," exclaimed Traill, in an undertone.

He addressed the remark to Sally, but his face scarcely turned in her direction.

"You see, these chaps have a quarrel and they're going to fight it out under rules and regulations.