The familiar patrons were listening. The visitor was plainly modest, at least before beginning his drinks; but in buying by the bottleful he would obtain more liquor for much less money. And there was a certain aspect which indicated that the visitor was not quite familiar with the lingo or the customs of this business place. He had asked for a bottle—not for a quart of liquor. He was a long time coming to the point, too.
“Why, if you please, I don’t want no liquor; I want an empty bottle!”
“An empty bottle?”
“Yes, sir!” the awkward fellow said, deprecatorily, “I want it clean—you know—no whisky or anything—”
“As though whisky ever soiled the insides of a bottle!” some one exclaimed sorrowfully.
“Go in back!” The bartender lifted his flat nose. “Lotsa bottles out there!”
The man went through into the yard. He returned, smelling alternately of two flat quart bottles, one white, the other brown. They smelled of whisky and he rinsed them many times, finally taking the white one with him down the street.
The saloon crowd watched him take his departure.
“What d’ye make of him?” one asked snortily.
“What he needs is a nipple to go on that bottle!” Cock Eye grinned.