Tom mixed the beverage full and far,
And slammed it, smoking on the bar,
Some says three fingers, some says two,—
I’ll leave the choice to you.
Phinn to the drink put forth his hand;
Blood drawed his knife, with accent bland,
“I ax yer parding, Mister Phinn—
Jest drap that whiskey skin.”
No man hlgh-toneder could be found
Than old Jedge Phinn the country round.