The short man continued to sputter as if nothing had been said, so Joe looked at him with mild curiosity for a moment, and then said:
“Hyer now. That’ll be about enough. I’d ought for to arrest you for disturbin’ the peace o’ them roustabouts, but if you’ve got money enough to settle a hotel bill, I reckon I might better take you there. Have ye?”
“Oi have,” said the little man.
“What’s your name?” asked the sheriff, presuming on his official position to disregard a point of strict etiquette in the community.
“Mostly they do be callin’ me Stumpy, whin Oi’m at home in Brownsville,” said the little man, whose wrath seemed to have cooled as the water dripped off his face. “Av thot’s a good enough name for Brownsville, sure it’ll do here.”
“Come along then, Stumpy,” said the sheriff, good-naturedly, as he linked his arm in the little man’s and steadied his steps toward the hotel across the street.
The landlord had no scruples against dispensing red liquor to any man who was in the company of the sheriff, and it came about that the three had sundry drinks which Stumpy paid for with great cheerfulness before going to bed.
Soon after he had done this, Mr. Bassett dropped in at old man Greenhut’s saloon, and after some irrelevant remarks reported the presence of a stranger in town.
“What’s he like?” demanded Greenhut.
“Well, he’s red-headed an’ I reckon he’s Irish, but ’pears like he had some money. He didn’t flash no wad, but he ain’t no ways mean with his loose change.”