"My sister Molly may be rough, an' hev a rough smile, but I'll be dinged ef I don't skin the man thet prints it in a paper!" "Good fer you, Bill!" murmured his friends, approvingly.
Arthur leaned back and regarded his accuser in wonder.

The big table, littered with papers, was between them.
"Come out o' there, ye measly city chap, an' take yer medicine," roared Bill, swinging his whip.

"I'll larn ye to come inter a decent neighborhood an' slander its women.

Come outer there!" West had sat quietly observing the scene.

Now he inquired, in composed tones: "What's the trouble, Bill ?" "Trouble?
Trouble, West?
Why, this lyin' scroundrel said in his paper thet our Molly had a rough smile.