"Delighted, charmed, I'm sure," Sir John agreed.
Jim, still covering Cash with his gun, drove him up against the bar. Those of the crowd who knew him realized that they were seeing a new man in the Englishman. He was conscious of Diana's luminous face back of him, of Henry's gray countenance close to her as he quietly expostulated with her. The crowd swung close to the new boss. This was what they wanted. They believed he would prove the new leader for Maverick.
"Every man's hands on the bar," the Englishman called, and he and his men covered the crowd at these words. "I ask you," Jim quietly said, "to drink with me to the President of the United States."
Men who had cursed their President, defied the laws of the country that had elected him, and who were fugitives from the justice of their land were touched by the simple and tactful toast. All glasses were raised. They were about to drink, but the first sentence was followed by the words:
"And to her Gracious Majesty, the Queen."
This time Jim stood ready to shoot; but it was unnecessary—the crowd echoed the toast. Why not? The Englishman was right. Their country—then his. Not a bad sort. So the murmurs went around.
Suddenly Hawkins said, as he watched Sir John:
"Your little glass-eyed friend don't drink."
Sir John's glass was still untouched.
"Oh yes, he's goin' to drink," Shorty cut in, as he crossed to the group near the table.