Out of the corner of his eye the proprietor of the Red Fox got a glimpse of the hard looks that were being directed at him.
"This will be the last one," he growled sullenly as he set out the glasses.
By ones and twos—and an embarrassed lot they were—the men strolled up to the bar. Dad Manslow was the only one that made no move. Lucky Jim did not notice this until after the glasses were filled.
"What's the matter, Dad?" he inquired.
"I'll tell yuh what!" wrathfully shouted the old man. "After such an uncalled-for bawl-out I'll never again lift another glass of hootch off'n Pinleg Scoddy's bar! He's the cheapest skate that ever struck Totatla City—which has always been my opinion of him."
In high dudgeon the speaker got on his crutches and began to thump toward the door.
"Just a minute, Dad!" called Lucky Jim. "You've taught me a lesson."
Lucky Jim lifted his glass and tossed its contents on the floor.
"What's good enough for you, Dad," he observed, "is pie for me. Add this to the ten ounces," he flung at Pinleg, then turned and joined Dad Manslow at the door.
With two exceptions—Chenoa Pete and Mike Haggart—the others left their drinks untouched and returned to their seats.