“What are you tryin’ to do?” he growled. “Want to queer the place? There’s people goin’ by on the road. Come inside, all of yer.”
“We resent that language, Morrisy!” exclaimed Fillmore haughtily, as he rose. “Speak to us in the proper manner to address gentlemen.”
“That’s right!” said Frank, also rising, and seeming a bit unsteady. “That’s no way to talk.”
“Oh, don’t all you chaps go to gettin’ on your high horses!” cried Morrisy. “You know me, an’ I know you. If I’ve said anything you don’t like, I apolergize; but you’ll have to caper inside if you want any more drinks.”
“Do you positively refuse to serve anything more out here?” asked Fillmore.
“Sure thing.”
“Then, as you have apologized, we’ll come in. Come on, fellows.”
They all filed in and found seats round some tables in a cool and airy room. As another round of drinks was being served a man with huge shoulders and a thick neck came sauntering into the room, his derby hat cocked over one eye and a cigar canted upward in one corner of his mouth.
“Here’s Husker!” was the cry. “Hello, Galway, old slugger! Come have a drink with us!”