"Open the door, Dacey. He'll murder me!" I yelled, and I tugged at the door. But that mean Freddie Croltie helped Dacey-after all the worry and trouble I've taken over his soul, too, this was his thanks to me. Dickie tried to push them away, but they held on; and they were laughing like two big, silly goats. This all happened in half a minute. I had to get away from the door to dodge the Greek. The three boys outside held their faces flattened against the glass, watching-they looked like Chinese faces. I could hear a crowd of kids sworming on to the verandah.
I did some good foot work, sidestepping the Greek amongst the little tables. I shivered to think of my fate. Would he drag an oister knife from his pocket and stab me? Or would he get me down and strangle me? I suppose he youst be a Greek restler once-he’s about 13 stone now.
His langwidge was terrible-I knew by the shape of his mouth when he said it.
"You wicked old man," I said under my breath. But then I knew it was all my forlt---all his terrible swears were corsed thro me. I would have to account for them. If I had gone home to my lunch like a decent Christian boy, the old Greek would be as quite as an old whale in his shop. Here he was running amuck, all thro me.
Over went one of the tables. Crash! The cruet bottles were in pieces-and oil, vinigar, sauce and pepper and other con-diments spilt on the floor.
“Open the door, Dacey. He'll murder me," I called again.
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