The smokers spit in a circle, just at the mouth of the dug-out which
most of the half-section inhabit, and flood with tobacco-stained
saliva the place where they put their hands and feet when they
flatten themselves to get in or out.

But who notices such a detail?

* * * * * *

Now, a propos of a letter to Marthereau from his wife, they
discuss produce.

"La mere Marthereau has written," he says. "That fat pig
we've got at home, a fine specimen, guess how much she's worth now?"

But the subject of domestic economy degenerates suddenly into a
fierce altercation between Pepin and Tulacque. Words of quite
unmistakable significance are exchanged. Then--"I don't care a what
you say or what you don't say! Shut it up!"--"I shall shut it when I
want, midden!"--"A seven-pound thump would shut it up quick
enough!"--"Who from? Who'll give it me?"--"Come and find out!"

They grind their teeth and approach each other in a foaming rage.
Tulacque grasps his prehistoric ax, and his squinting eyes are
flashing. The other is pale and his eyes have a greenish glint; you
can see in his blackguard face that his thoughts are with his knife.

But between the two, as they grip each other in looks and mangle in
words, Lamuse intervenes with his huge pacific head, like a baby's,
and his face of sanguinary hue: "Allons, allons! You're not going to