"Drink up! Drink up!" ordered Mike, "and we'll have some more."
But four rational glasses of beer in one seemed sufficient for Scholar.
"We'd better get back I think," he said. "The rest of the cattle will be coming on board."
"Oh, but indade I must stand treat now!" answered Mike.
"Can't you get a glass of beer here?" asked Scholar, accentuating the "glass."
"Them is the glasses of beer here," said Mike. "Come along boys, drink up!" he repeated; and he glanced at the door with a kind of hilarity in his eye.
"When will she sail, do you think?" said the Inquisitive One.
"She can't go out before four or five in the morning," said Mike. "Give us all the same again, Mr. Bar-keeper."
Those who had not finished made haste to do so, and the glasses were replenished. The man who had thrown out the belligerent one had not again taken his seat. He was looking sadly, moodily, at the swing doors. He might have been brooding over some domestic trouble by the look of him. Then he turned about, still looking heavily at the floor, walked rearwards, hands behind back, and took up a position towards the end of the saloon, legs spraddled, swaying up on his toes and coming down on his heels again gently.
"He's after freezing them out," said Michael, seeing Scholar glance at the man of moody weight. The noisy group had probably a like opinion of his brooding proximity, drained its glasses, rose and passed to the door. The heavy man walked slowly in the rear. It was composed of some tough-looking units; but Scholar, who had come down from the lumber camps of Michigan, was not intimidated by their scowling faces. One of them jostled Cockney's elbow, and he turned round, lean and humped like a weasel; but the big man, following just a step behind, thrust his big hand between Cockney and the jostler, and admonished: "Now then, now then. Move on, please!"