Paul turned his shoulders slowly about, and surveyed the line, and knitted his black brows at a little man whose eyes were as innocent and timorous as a rabbit's.
"Are you in a hurry?" he asked in a bass voice.
"No!" exclaimed the little man.
"Then don't try to hurry me!" said Paul, swinging his shoulders back again, and letting his heavy frown rest on the young lady cashier for a moment, so that she might see what kind of a man he was.
He came out of the Belvedere at half-past five. His face was flushed from generous emotion and bad air, and his eyes were glassy from protracted staring at "Black Roger of Brimstone Gulch." An intending patron was talking to the young lady cashier.
"I say I give you a two!" shouted the patron.
"It was a one," said the cashier patiently. "Take your change, please. There's the dollar you gave me."
"That's a dollar fast enough," said the patron, "but it ain't the dollar I give you, because I didn't give you no dollar. I give you a two!"
"Do you want your dollar back?"