I'll bet his backbone's twanging yet! Lead me to him, Grim, old cock, I'd like another piece of him!" But Grim was humming to himself, playing piano on the bed-sheet with his fingers.
"Is that man not an Arab ?" asked the fellow in bed, taking alarm all over again.
"Arab your aunt!" laughed Jeremy: "I eat Arabs! I'm the only original genuine woolly bad man from way back! I'm the plumber who pulled the plug out of Arabia! You know English?
Good! You know what a dose of salts is then?
You've seen it work?
Experienced it, maybe?
Hah! You'll understand me.

I'm a grain of the Epsom Salt that went through Beersheba, time the Turks had all the booze in sight and we were thirsty.

Muddy booze it was too--oozy booze--not fit for washing hogs! Ever heard of Anzacs?
Well, I'm one of 'em.

Now you know what the scorpion who stung you's up against! You lie there and think about it, cocky; I'll show you his shirt tomorrow morning." "Suppose we go now," suggested Grim.

"I've got the drift of this thing.
Get the rest elsewhere." "You can fan that Joskins for a lot more yet," Jeremy objected.