"'Which your feachers is displeasin' to me, an' I don't like your looks.'
"Jack keeps on swabbin' off the bar for a spell, an' all as mild as the month of May.
"'Is that remark to be took sarkastic?' he asks at last, 'or shall we call it nothin' more'n a brainless effort to be funny?'
"'None whatever!' retorts the Turner person; 'that observation's made in a serious mood. Your countenance is ondoubted the facial failure of the age, an' I requests that you turn it the other way while I drinks.'
"Not bein' otherwise engaged at the moment, an' havin' time at his command, Jack repairs from behind the bar, an' seizes the Turner person by the y'ear.
"'An' this is the boasted hospital'ty of the West!' howls the Turner person, strugglin' to free himself from Jack, who's slowly but voloominously bootin' him towards the street.
"It's Nell who tries to save him.
"'Yere, you Jack!' she sings out, 'don't you-all go hurtin' that pore tenderfoot none.'
"Nell's a shade too late, however; Jack's already booted him out.