Seems so, don't it? Well!"
"Ssh!" said the barkeeper.
"Say," snarled the Swede, "don't you try to shut me up. I won't have
it. I'm a gentleman, and I want people to drink with me. And I want
'em to drink with me now. Now- do you understand?" He rapped the bar
with his knuckles.
Years of experience had calloused the bartender. He merely grew
sulky. "I hear you," he answered.
"Well," cried the Swede, "listen hard then. See those men over
there? Well, they're going to drink with me, and don't you forget
it. Now you watch."
"Hi!" yelled the barkeeper, "this won't do!"
"Why won't it?" demanded the Swede. He stalked over to the table,
and by chance laid his hand upon the shoulder of the gambler. "How
about this?" he asked, wrathfully. "I asked you to drink with me."
The gambler simply twisted his head and spoke over his shoulder. "My
friend, I don't know you."
"Oh, hell!" answered the Swede, "come and have a drink."
"Now, my boy," advised the gambler kindly, "take your hand off my
shoulder and go 'way and mind your own business." He was a little slim
man, and it seemed strange to hear him use this tone of heroic
patronage to the burly Swede. The other men at the table said nothing.
"What? You won't drink with me, you little dude! I'll make you then!
I'll make you!" The Swede had grasped the gambler frenziedly at the
throat, and was dragging him from his chair.
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