It suits me." It
was apparently his design to impart a deep significance to these
words.
"So?" murmured the bartender again. He turned to gaze dreamily at
the scroll-like birds and bird-like scrolls which had been drawn
with soap upon the mirrors back of the bar.
"Well, I guess I'll take another drink," said the Swede presently.
"Have something?"
"No, thanks; I'm not drinkin'," answered the bartender. Afterward he
asked: "How did you hurt your face?"
The Swede immediately began to boast loudly. "Why, in a fight. I
thumped the soul out of a man down here at Scully's hotel."
The interest of the four men at the table was at last aroused.
"Who was it?" said one.
"Johnnie Scully," blustered the Swede. "Son of the man what runs it.
He will be pretty near dead for some weeks, I can tell you. I made a
nice thing of him, I did. He couldn't get up. They carried him in
the house. Have a drink?"
Instantly the men in some subtle way incased themselves in
reserve. "No, thanks," said one. The group was of curious formation.
Two were prominent local business men; one was the
district-attorney; and one was a professional gambler of the kind
known as "square." But a scrutiny of the group would not have
enabled an observer to pick the gambler from the men of more reputable
pursuits. He was, in fact, a man so delicate in manner, when among
people of fair class, and so judicious in his choice of victims,
that in the strictly masculine part of the town's life he had come
to be explicitly trusted and admired.
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