"Billy didn't mean to rub it in," said Jack Graham, "so shake hands and let up."
The threatened quarrel was averted, and the men drank on Harry. Then Mike set up the drinks to the furtherance of their friendly relations. They talked to Mike at length, inquiring his plans, approving his sense in choosing Copper Creek as a residence, congratulating him on his daughter, commending her style. Mike hoped they would make the Little Nugget their evening headquarters. They replied with enthusiasm that they would. Mike made himself agreeable in a quiet way, without saying much. Everybody was "stuck" on him—everybody but Harry. Harry sulked over Billy's insults. His sullen mood had returned. Finally, late in the evening, he pushed his chair back abruptly and went up to the bar.
"I'm goin'," he announced. "Give me that bottle."
He poured himself a stiff drink, which he absorbed at a toss of the wrist, and turned away.
"Mr. Mortimer," called Frosty, "did you pay for this?"
"Chalk it down to me," called Harry, without looking back.
Frosty caught the snake eye of his proprietor fixed upon him. He twisted his feet in terror beneath the bar. "It's agin the rules," he called at last, weakly, just as Harry reached the door.
The latter turned in heavy surprise. Then he walked deliberately back to the bar, on which he leaned his elbows.
"Look yere," he said truculently, "ain't I good fer that?"
"Why, yes, I reckon so," cried poor Frosty in an agony. "But it's agin the rules."