"What do you mean?" I said.
"I mean who is that dirty bum who just came in?" he repeated.
"I don't understand you," I rejoined, angry at his remark.
"I see you're rather particular about expressions," he said in a
surprised tone.
"Yes," I retorted, "and I don't see what right you have to call an
inoffensive convict a dirty bum, when if it wasn't for us dirty bums
you wouldn't be sitting here now."
The situation was saved by an old Irish keeper who added laughingly,
"That's right, you wouldn't be getting twenty-five per a week to keep a
chair from flying out of a window, if it wasn't for those dirty bums."