"Then, boys, here's to the health of Mr. Ferguson. He's a bully boy, and no coward."
"Gentlemen," said the Scotchman, "it's a compliment you mean, no doubt, and I'm suitably thankful. If you'll allow me, I'll drink your health in a liquor which will not injure any one. I'll wish you health and prosperity in a glass of cold water, if the barkeeper happens to have any of that beverage handy. Tom, join with me in the toast."
Tom did so, and the speech was well received.
"As for this gentleman," said Mr. Ferguson, addressing Jim, who had struggled to his feet, and was surveying the scene in rather a bewildered way, "I hope he won't harbor malice; I've only got even with him. We may as well forgive and forget."
"That's the talk! Jim, drink the stranger's health!"
Jim looked a little doubtful, but when a glass of whisky was put into his hand he could not resist the seductive draft, and tossed it down.
"Now shake hands!" said one of the players.
"With all my heart," said Ferguson, and the two shook hands, to the great delight of the company.
"You got off pretty well, Mr. Ferguson," said Tom, when they retired for the night.