Unable longer to withstand his gnawing hunger, Tom secured for himself a large round hardtack, and with this he tried to ward off the pangs of starvation. But he had small success with the endeavor, for his teeth were poor. He flung the thing of adamant aside, finally, and cried, testily: "My God! Ain't it bad enough to EAT a phonograph record without having to listen to the damn' machine? Shut up, will you? You've got the indecentest singing voice I ever heard." "Say!" Jerry looked up belligerently. "You don't have to listen to my singin'. There's plenty of room outside--all the room from here south to Seattle. And you don't have to gum that pilot-bread if your teeth is loose. You can boil yourself a pot of mush--when your turn comes. You got a free hand. As for me, I eat anything I want to and I SING anything I want to whenever I want to, and I'd like to see anybody stop me. We don't have to toss up for turns at singin'." More loudly he raised his high-pitched voice; ostentatiously he rattled his dishes. Tom settled back in exasperated silence, but as time wore on and his hungry nostrils were assailed with the warm, tantalizing odor of frying ham fat he fidgeted nervously. Having prepared a meal to his liking, Jerry set the table with a single plate, cup, and saucer, then seated himself with a luxurious grunt. He ate slowly; he rolled every mouthful with relish; he fletcherized it with calculated deliberation; he paused betweentimes to blow loudly upon his coffee and to smack his lips--sounds that in themselves were a provocation and an insult to his listener. When he had cleaned up his interminable repast and was finishing the last scrap, Tom rose and made for the stove. Jerry watched him, paralyzed in mid-motion, until his partner's hand was outstretched, then he suddenly shouted: "Get away from there!" Tom started. "What for?" he queried, a light of rebellion flaring into his eyes. "Ain't you through with your supper? You been at it long enough." "You see me eatin', don't you? After I get fed up and my teeth picked I got all my dishes to wash." "That wasn't our arrangement." "It was so." "You'll eat all night," Tom complained, almost tearfully. "You'll set there and gorge till you bust." "That's my privilege. I don't aim to swaller my grub whole. I'm shy a few teeth and some of the balance don't meet, so I can't consume vittles like I was a pulp-mill. I didn't start this row--" "Who did?" "Now ain't that a fool question?" Jerry leaned back comfortably and began an elaborate vacuum-cleaning process of what teeth he retained. "Who starts all our rows, if I don't? No. I'm as easy-going as a greased eel, and 'most anybody can get along with me, but, tread on my tail and I swop ends, pronto. That's me. I go my own even way, but I live up to my bargains and I see to it that others do the same. You get the hell away from that stove!"