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At a table sat the Reverend Norman Hale, with an expression of radiant happiness on his gaunt face. The barkeeper, who, on his own initiative, had just brought in a steaming hot drink, stood watching him with unfeigned concern. Hale welcomed Ellis warmly, and drew a chair close for him. "You sent for Mr. Surtaine," said Ellis. "Did I?" asked the other vaguely. "I forget. It doesn't matter.

Or perhaps it was the black skull-cap, set far back on his bent head, which gave him the Jewish cast; but his manner was that of the rough-and-ready barkeeper and he slapped one wet hand on the bar. "Here's to her!" cried Wunpost, ignoring the hint to pay as he raised his glass to the crowd. "Here's to the Willie Meena some mine!"

Outside the saloon the barkeeper was patting his dog, women in sunbonnets with string bags on their arms were on their way to the general store, men were bringing out chairs and placing them with pondering calculation the right distance from the hitching bar. He bought his stamp and posted his letter, the man inside the window offering comments on the weather.

Mead told me the chief wanted to see me, so we started for his office. On our way up Central Avenue we stopped to get a drink. I thought I could trust the good-looking barkeeper, so I just threw a roll over behind the counter, and was then ready to see his Honor. The chief asked me if I won the man's money. I told him I did. "But," said Chief Woods, "he said you cheated him."

Git!" Bill followed him to the door. "Dern my skin, if he hezn't gone off with that bummer Johnson," he added, as he looked down the road. "What's he expectin', Bill?" asked the barkeeper. "A letter from his aunt. Reckon he'll hev to take it out in expectin'. Likely they're glad to get shut o' him." "He's leadin' a shiftless, idle life here," interposed the Member of Assembly.

He had begun to speak and, though apparently engaged with the beer-glass he was polishing, the barkeeper listened. Down in Wall Street the senior member of Carroll and Hastings also listened. He was alone in the most private of all his private offices, and when interrupted had been engaged in what, of all undertakings, is the most momentous.

So badly did his misused body stiffen, that when he was called it required another ten minutes and a second glass of whisky to unbend his joints and limber up the muscles. "Hey not that way!" the barkeeper shouted, and then went after him and started him through the darkness toward Canyon City.

" Where are you going to take?" he added, as the barkeeper, in snowy jacket and tie, leaned toward them from behind the bar. " Old Pepper," said Drouet. " A little of the same for me," put in Hurstwood. " How long are you in town this time? inquired Hurstwood. " Only until Wednesday. I'm going up to St. Paul." " George Evans was in here Saturday and said he saw you in Milwaukee last week."

Poussette, lying crumpled up in a reclining chair, watched his new friend with dawning reason and admiration. "Fonny things happens," said he, wagging his head, "I'll go to sleep now and wake up just in time you'll see to go to church, help Mr. Ringfield take roun' the money oh I'll show you, I'll show you, Miss Cordova." "You'll show me, will you?" said the barkeeper, absently.

"Oh, no you don't!" cried Jimmy. "Come back here and count that 'leaden metal, and then be transmutin' it into whiskey straight, the purest gold you got. You don't drown out a three-days' thirst with beer. You ought to give me 'most two quarts for that." The barkeeper was wise. He knew that what Jimmy started would go on with men who could pay, and he filled the order generously.