“Very likely he would have said just what you said; but there would have been no more sense in it then than now.”
“Bully for young ’un!” said a seedy dandy, whose love of fancy drinks had made a compromise with his love of dress.
“I will leave it to these gentlemen to decide whether I have not spoken reason and good sense.”
“I will leave you and these gentlemen to settle that question to suit yourselves, and I will bid you good-evening,” said Somers, rising from his chair.
The unpleasant emphasis which he placed upon the word “gentlemen” created a decided sensation among the group of idlers; and, as he stepped from behind the table, he was confronted by a young man with bloodshot eyes and bloated cheeks, but dressed in the extreme of fashion.
“Sir, you wear the colors of the United States Army,” said the juvenile tippler; “but you can’t be permitted to insult a gentleman with impunity.”
Lieutenant Somers wanted to laugh in the face of this specimen of bar-room chivalry, for he forcibly reminded him of a belligerent little bantam-rooster that paraded the barnyard of his mother’s cottage at Pinchbrook; but he was prudent enough not to give any further cause of offense. Bestowing one glance at this champion of the tippler’s coterie, he turned aside, and attempted to move towards the door.
“Stop, sir,” continued the young man, who plainly wanted to make a little capital out of a fight, in defense of the dignity of his friends. “You can’t go without an apology, or—or a fight,” added the bully, shaking his head significantly, as he placed himself in front of the young lieutenant.
“What am I to apologize for?” asked Somers.
“You insulted the whole party of us. You intimated that we were no gentlemen.”