All four men scowled pugnaciously, even the pale Nesbit, who was winning.

Bad temper filled the air, as palpable as the heat and stink of the burning oil.
Only Heywood maintained a febrile gayety, interrupting the game perversely, stirring old Wutzler to incoherent speech.
"What's that about Rome ?" he asked.

"You were saying ?" "Rome is safed!" cried the outcast, with sudden enthusiasm.

"In your paper _Tit-bit_, I read.

How dey climb der walls op, yes, but Rome is safed by a flook of geeze.