I know what I 'm a-talkin' about, you miserable third-class idiot, an' if you give me any more of your lip I 'll paste you good an' proper.

Go back thar whar you belong, an' tind to your part of this fandango; I'm a runnin' mine." Moffat hesitated, his brow black as a thunder cloud, but the crowd was manifestly growing restless over the delay, calling "Time!" and "Play ball!" and stamping their feet.

Besides, Buck was never known to be averse to a quarrel, and Moffat's bump of caution was well developed.
He went back, nursing his wrath and cursing silently.

The crowd greeted his reappearance with prolonged applause, and some of the former consciousness of victory returned.

He glanced down into the questioning eyes of Miss Spencer, cleared his throat, then grasped her hand, and, as they stood there together, all his confidence came surging back.
"Ladies and Gentlemen of Glencaid," he began gracefully, "as president of the Bachelor Miners' Pleasure Club, it affords me extreme gratification to welcome you to this the most important social event ever pulled off in this Territory.