Maggie cast an appealing glance around the room. All of the men had been drinking. Some were nearly intoxicated. The bartender was sober, but it was his dollar that was involved; he could not interfere.
Poor Maggie! She stood her ground bravely. It was the last; she could not let it go. The enraged man gave vent to his passion in a volley of oaths. "Give me that dollar, or —— I'll bust your head. I won't stand such treatment, you —— fool!" and suiting the action to the words, he drew from under the stove a heavy poker and started toward her.
Someone caught his upraised arm.
"Let her go, Dam Crow. Let her have her dollar. You've done the square thing. Not a stingy bone in your body."
A laugh followed this speech, in which Damon Crowley joined, and which seemed to put him in better humor. He threw the poker down heavily and taking the frightened girl rudely by the arm pushed her toward the door.
"Tell the sick lady her husband wants her to have tea, nice warm tea, plenty of tea, and this is your share," and opening the door he pushed her into the passageway and gave her a violent kick.
The crowd inside laughed loudly and then went on with their drinking and swearing as if nothing had happened. Such visits as the visit of Maggie were of too frequent occurrence to cause any prolonged ripple of excitement.
Poor Maggie! She lay groaning on the cold, slippery ground, just outside this licensed, money-making pet of Uncle Sam's.