"I am a temperance man," said Ferguson, adding indiscreetly, "and it would be well for you all if you would shun the vile liquor which is destroying soul and body."
"—— your impudence!" ejaculated the other, in a rage. "Do you dare to insult gentlemen like us?"
"I never insult anybody," said the Scotchman calmly. "What I have said is for your good, and you would admit it if you were sober."
"Do you dare to say I'm drunk?" demanded the man, in a fury.
"Mr. Ferguson," said Tom, in a low voice, "I wouldn't provoke him if I were you."
But the Scotchman was no coward, and, though generally prudent, he was too fond of argument to yield the point.
"Of course, you're drunk," he said calmly. "If you will reflect, you show all the signs of a man that has taken too much liquor. Your face is flushed, your hand is unsteady, and——"
He was interrupted by a volley of execrations from the man whom he was coolly describing, and the latter, in a fit of fury, struck the Scotchman in the face. Had the blow been well directed it would, for the time, have marred the small share of personal beauty with which nature had endowed Mr. Ferguson; but it glanced aside and just struck him on his prominent cheek-bone.
"A ring! a ring!" shouted the men in the corner, jumping to their feet in excitement. "Let Jim and the Scotchman fight it out."
"Gentlemen," said Mr. Ferguson, "I don't wish to fight with your friend. He is drunk, as you can see plainly enough. I don't wish to fight with a drunken man."