"Only it seems to me I had the money in my left hand, and he, you see, is on the right hand of the table. It might have been him, and then again it might have been one of the other two gentlemen. It’s so difficult to remember. Wasn’t it you," turning to Mr. Bates, "or no, wasn’t it _you_," to the Indian. "But it _couldn’t_ have been the Indian gentleman, and it couldn’t have been Mr. Bates here, and yet I’m sure it wasn’t the German gentleman, and, however, I _must_ have given it to one of the three. Didn’t I lay the coin down on the table and go away and leave it." Leander struck his forehead. "Yes, I think that’s what I did. I’m sorry," he said to the Kanaka, "that you are having any trouble, it’s some misunderstanding." "Oh, I’ll get it all right," returned the Kanaka, confidently. "Come on, one of you fellows dig up." Then the quarrel broke out afresh. The three blind men rose to their feet, blackguarding and vilifying one another till the room echoed. Now it was Mr. Bates and the Dutchman versus the Indian, now the Indian and Dutchman versus Mr. Bates, now the Indian and Mr. Bates versus the Dutchman. At every instant the combinations varied with kaleidoscopic swiftness. They shouted, they danced, and they shook their fists towards where they guessed each other’s faces were. The Indian, who had been drinking whiskey between intervals of the quarrel, suddenly began to rail and howl in his own language, and at times even the Dutchman lapsed into the vernacular. The Kanaka woman lost her wits altogether, and declared that in three more minutes she would ring for the police. Then all at once the Dutchman swung both fists around him and caught the Indian a tremendous crack in the side of the head. The Indian vented an ear-splitting war-whoop and began pounding Mr. Bates who stood next to him. In the next instant the three were fighting all over the room. They lost each other, they struck furious blows at the empty air, they fell over tables and chairs, or suddenly came together with a dreadful shock and terrible cries of rage. The Dutchman bumped against Leander and before he could get away had smashed his silk hat down over his ears. The noise of their shouting could have been heard a block. "Thief, thief." "Teef yourselluf, pay oop dose finf thalers." "No have got, no have got." And then the door swung in and four officers began rounding them up like stampeded sheep. Not until he was in the wagon could the Dutchman believe that it was not the Indian and Mr. Bates who had him by either arm, and even in the wagon, as they were being driven to the precinct station-house, the quarrel broke out from time to time. As we heard the rattle of the patrol-wagon’s wheels growing fainter over the cobbles, we rose to go. The Kanaka stood with her hands on her hips glaring at the zinc table with its remnants of truffle, chicken and beefsteak and its empty bottles. Then she exclaimed, "And _I’m_ shy four dollars and six bits."