“What’s this now!” shouted the long-suffering Charlie Mackenzie, the husky proprietor of the Kenora, as he came in from the dining-room.
“Good evening, good sir! It is Jim Langford, and very much at your service,” came the gracious reply.
“Most of the time Jim Langford is welcome––but not when he don’t know the dif’ between a bar and a stable. Hop it now, and tie your little bull outside,” was Mackenzie’s ready retort.
“Boys!” cried Jim with a laugh, “we all know Charlie. He’s a jolly good fellow, which nobody can deny;––and all that sort of thing;––but we’re thirsty.
“Hands up––both hands––who wants a drink?”
Half a hundred hands shot in the air.
Jim’s mood changed like a summer’s day before a thunder plump. He pulled a gun. “Keep them there or I’ll blow your heads off,” he shouted dramatically.
And every hand stayed decorously and obediently above its owner’s head.
Suddenly Jim laughed and threw his gun on the floor.