When he came to his senses, he was lying on a bench in a back room. Cliff Marsland was bending over him. Beside Cliff, Dip recognized the features of the proprietor. Seeing Dip’s eyes open, Cliff explained the situation.
“This fellow owns the joint,” he said. “You shouldn’t have slugged him. I was wrong making a pass at the barkeep. He got my goat, that was all; when he picked up the bottle, it made me mad. After I took it away from him, the fight was all ended.
“But the boys had to jump on you, or the cops might have come in. They don’t want any target practice around here.”
“It’s O.K. now,” volunteered the proprietor. “I wasn’t going to hurt your friend here. Cliff knows me well.”
Dip sat up and rubbed the back of his head. He sank down again. This went on for several minutes. Then the groggy gangster sank into a half doze. A while later he opened his eyes once more.
He began to understand fully what had happened. He shook hands with the proprietor, and leaned back against the wall.
“What time is it?” he questioned.
The proprietor consulted a watch.
“Nearly nine o’clock.”
An oath came from Dip.