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Updated: June 10, 2025
The instant the swinging doors closed Barry started from his chair with a strange cry none of them had ever heard the like from human lips for there was grief in it, and above all there was a deadly eagerness. So a hungry man might cry out at the sight of food. Down the length of the barroom he darted and was drawing his gun as he whipped through the doors.
For both Rembrandt and the parson had, and showed, a respect for her, which might appear startling were it seen in Berkeley Square or the Strand. When, therefore, O'Fallen came raging into the barroom one morning, with the gentle remark that "he'd roast the tongue of her fancy gent if he didn't get up and git," he did a foolish thing.
There was a barroom in front and a dancing room in the rear. The place was filled with sailors, steamboat captains and pilots, traders, roisterers, clerks, hackmen, and undescribed characters. Women mingled with the men and drank with them. They dressed with conspicuous abandon, in loud colors. Their faces were rouged.
Even under the circumstances, Alex Gorram was glad to see the last of them. As for Dunnan's own mercenary company, there were about a score of former spacemen among them; the rest graded down from bandits through thugs and sneak-thieves to barroom bums. Dunnan himself was an astrogator, not an engineer. "That gang aren't even good enough for routine raiding," Harkaman said.
After a time he chose a seat with great deliberation and continued to stare at the young man. "Have a cigar?" He took one from his waistcoat pocket and held it towards the young man. "It's a good one, none of your barroom smokes, oh, I see you are one of those cigarette fiends, same as Stacia!" There was a conversational hiatus, and Vickers was thinking of going. "Well, how was the show?"
I drink to you, sir. "So that's how Sandy Ferguson went under the sod. To-day? Well, I couldn't let Ferguson stand in a barroom where a gentleman had been, could I?"
"What are these?" Sir, I looked. Mrs. Pringle gave a shriek, and well may she have. My boy was pointing to a cover on which was what is called in barroom parlance a "nude." And not ONE nude but TWELVE! Sir, you have destroyed the parental labors of fourteen years. I trust you are satisfied. Yours, etc., EVERETT G. PRINGLE. A Letter from a Member of the Lower Classes.
The landlord waited, and Philip was pleased to observe the change in his manner. In the barroom he was the conciliatory landlord. Standing behind his guests at table, he had an air of peremptory patronage, and the voice in which he shot out the inquiry, as he seized Philip's plate, "Beefsteak or liver?" quite took away Philip's power of choice.
Glow with her mother; she could not shake off the uneasy suggestion of the contrast. At the hour when the ladies went to their rooms the day was just beginning for a certain class of the habitues. The parlors were nearly deserted, and few chairs were occupied on the piazzas, but the ghosts of another generation seemed to linger, especially in the offices and barroom.
"Just wait for us," he shouted to the others, who were now in the two cars. He walked behind the ice cream pavillion, Tom at his side, and then the pair reached a side door, connecting with the hotel barroom. They looked in and at a small table saw the two chauffeurs drinking liquor from a bottle set before them. Both were rather noisy and had evidently been imbibing freely.
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