The bar-keeper now saw the point and said: “Look here, you can come back here and take another drink if you like, but I wish it distinctly understood, my good fellow, that this is to be the last “row” you ever raise in this house!”
A man one day sauntered into a two-bit saloon and called for a drink of whiskey. The proprietor of the place was behind the bar and set out the Bourbon bottle. When the man had drank he threw a ten-cent piece on the counter and started off.
“This is a two-bit house, sir,” said the proprietor, in a tone which showed that he felt some pride in the establishment.
“Ah!” said the customer. “Two-bit house, eh? Well, I thought so when I first came in, but after I had tasted your whiskey I concluded it was a bit house.”
Some of the customers of the saloon-keepers are not only fellows of infinite jest, but are also men of such an agreeable disposition that it is pleasant to have them around.
“Do you know Mr. Popper?” asked a saloon-keeper of one of his customers.
“I’ve heard of him,” said the customer, “but I don’t know that I ever met him.”
“No;” said the saloon man. “Well, you ought to make his acquaintance. He’s a nice agreeable gentleman. I never saw him until night before last when he came in here about 12 o’clock and took a drink. He is a man who makes himself at home with you at once. Why he had hardly been in here five minutes before he drew out his six-shooter and began shooting holes through the pictures, the lamp, and other little notions about the place, just as familiarly as though he and I had been boys together. Nothing cold and distant about him! He’s a charming fellow!—charming!”
There is nothing at which these agreeable gentlemen are more likely to take a shot, than a large and costly mirror. A mirror is generally the first thing that attracts their attention when they are inclined to be sociable and good-natured, though a lamp, suspended in the middle of a room, very frequently draws their first fire. Sometimes two or three marksmen take a hand in the sport. Then it’s right jolly.
Probably as preparatory to a more public performance, half a dozen men went one night to a pistol gallery to practice. To snuff a candle with a pistol or rifle has always been a great feat among crack shots. These men were not only going to snuff the candle, but each man in turn was to hold the candle while the other snuffed it. At the first fire the man who held the candle got a bullet through his left hand. Although the wound was of a very painful character, he insisted on having his shot. He got it, and put a bullet through his friend’s arm just below the elbow. After this the party did not feel that enthusiasm for candle-snuffing which previously animated their bosoms. They concluded that they were not candle-snuffers.