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Updated: June 29, 2025
I whipped him good, too. Gentlemen," the Swede cried to the men at the table, "have a drink?" "Ssh!" said the barkeeper. The group at the table, although furtively attentive, had been pretending to be deep in talk, but now a man lifted his eyes towards the Swede and said, shortly, "Thanks. We don't want any more." At this reply the Swede ruffled out his chest like a rooster.
Annoyed but not alarmed, as it seemed probable that the missing man had fallen in a drunken sleep in some hidden shadows, he returned to the house, when it occurred to him that Byers might have sought the bar-room for some liquor. But he was still more surprised when the barkeeper volunteered the information that he had seen Mr. Byers hurriedly pass down the side veranda into the highroad.
These Canadians mixed their own drink, and made a cross-mark on the inside of the cupboard door, using a system of bookkeeping evidently agreed upon between themselves and the landlord. He shouted for the lazy barkeeper, who answered nothing out of nothingness. Nightfall was very clear and fair in this Northwestern territory. A man felt nearer to the sunset.
Here is one, told to illustrate the cleverness of a drinker. He walked into a bar and ordered a "tin-roof cocktail." The barkeeper was nonplussed, and asked what a tin-roof cocktail was. "Why, it's on the house." I leave you to figure it out, but the barkeeper paid the bill. The ingenuity of the Americans is shown in their mixed drinks.
Paul inwardly determined to mention it in his first letter to Aunt Lucy. He could imagine her astonishment. While he was busy with these thoughts, his companion had finished his oysters. "Most through?" he inquired nonchalantly. "I've got to step out a minute; wait till I come back." Paul unsuspectingly assented. He heard his companion say a word to the barkeeper, and then go out.
After a long journey you are thoroughly disposed to appreciate these scientific tonsors, whose delicacy of manipulation is unequaled in Europe. Only the pen of that eloquent writer, who told the "Times" how he "thirsted in the desert," could do justice to the high-art triumphs of the cunning barkeeper.
Throughout the day, with the bill, for evidence, pasted against the mirror, the barkeeper told and retold the wondrous tale. "He stood just where you're standing now," he related, "blowing in million-dollar bills like you'd blow suds off a beer. If I'd knowed it was him, I'd have hit him once and hid him in the cellar for the reward. Who'd I think he was?
Jack ordered the drinks, saying: "You fellars think I haint got no sense, but I'll bet yer's long's I's got two kerds to yer's one." While old Jack was paying the barkeeper for the drams I put a pencil mark on the boy ticket, and my friend saw me do it. I then offered to make another bet. Old Jack said: "I'll bet $10 this time." I told him to put up, and he did.
"Sure. It's a tin roof," laughed Bodley. "Much obleeged ter ye," said Walky. "As yer so pressin' don't mind if I do. A glass of sars'p'rilla'll do me." "What's the matter with you lately, Walky?" demanded the barkeeper, pouring the non-alcoholic drink with no very good grace. "Lost your taste for a man's drink?" "Sort o'," replied Walky, calmly. "Here's your health, Joe.
His beefy face was flushed as red as his flannel shirt. His eyes were fixed boldly on the Texan. "The barkeeper tells me yuh were inquirin' fer me," he said heavily. "What's on yore mind?" Mullhall was directly behind him, insolent of face and bearing. The two seemed to be paying no attention to the trio of men behind The Kid.
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