I'll beat it with you--and I'll never come back." "You bet your sweet life you won't," shouted Swann.
"Hold on there, Dalrymple," interposed Mackay, stepping out.

"Come across with that eighty-six bucks you owe me." "I--I haven't got it, Mackay," rejoined the boy, flushing deeply.
Lane ripped open his coat and jerked out his pocket-book and tore bills out of it.

"There, Hardy Mackay," he said, with deliberate scorn, throwing the money on the table.

"There are your eighty-six dollars--_earned_ in France....

I should think it'd burn your fingers." He drew Holt out into the hall, where Pepper waited.