“Good evening, gentlemen,” said Jim, blandly, “I hope I’m not intruding on this scene of festivity and rejoicing”—and he looked about him somewhat sarcastically. “As you do not seem at all disturbed by my presence,” he continued, “I conclude that my company is at least unobjectionable, and with your permission I will join your party,” and Jim strode up to the Bar, his huge spurs clinking a merry defiance as he walked.
“You see, gentlemen,” he continued, “I have a very important engagement which will temporarily necessitate my absence from town, and as I start early in the morning, I thought I would drop in and bid my fellow citizens good bye. It will save you the trouble of sending a committee to see me off—I prefer that you should not give yourselves any trouble on my account. Should you, however, appoint a committee to escort me back to town again, I shall not object. Indeed, I should feel obliged to you if you would turn out en masse and greet me with a brass band. And, now, fellow townsmen, friends and former patrons, have a parting drink with me. I see your hand but cannot call you.”
Whether it was because liquor was just then en régle, the spontaneous revival of Jim’s popularity, or his cool, sarcastic assurance, is an open question, but the crowd fell to with a will, and everybody, with the exception of one man, drank with him. For the moment it seemed as though our citizens had forgotten that Jim was under the ban.
Among the party which had been celebrating the reform movement of our enterprising town, was a fellow by the name of Jeff Hosking, a comparatively recent addition to our population, who hailed from Murphy’s Camp. Whether Hosking had an old time grudge to settle with Poker Jim, no one ever knew, but it was afterward rumored that a feud of long standing had existed between them.
From whatever cause, however, the gentleman from Calaveras remained conspicuously apart from his sociable companions, insolently shaking his head in refusal of Jim’s proffered hospitality. To accentuate his discourtesy—for such conduct was considered the acme of rudeness in our little community—he smiled in a manner that was an unpleasant combination of superciliousness and contempt.
The assembled company looked at Jeff in open mouthed astonishment for a few seconds, but Jim affected not to notice the implied insult, much to the bewilderment of the rest of the party.
The situation was, to say the least, embarrassing, and Dixie, with a pardonable desire to smooth things over, said—
“Well, Jeff, what’s the matter; hev y’u lost yer appetite fer licker?”
“No sirree, Mister Dixie!” replied Hosking, “but I ain’t drinkin’ with no gamblers jest now, ’specially them that ain’t on the squar’, an’ some folks that I knows of, hain’t improved much since they was chased outer Murphy’s.”
“Drink your liquor, gentlemen,” said Jim, quietly, “and then we will investigate this very interesting affair!”