Ichabod held up his hand, suggestively, imperatively, and the crowd fell back, silent,––leaving him facing the big man.
“You’ll apologize!” The thin jaw showed clear, through the shade of brown stubble on Ichabod’s face.
For answer, the big man leaning on the bar exhibited his discolored teeth and breathed hard.
“How shall it be?” asked Ichabod.
A grimy hand twitched toward a grimier hip.
“You’ve seen the likes of this––” 192
Ichabod turned toward the spectators.
“Will any man lend me––”
“Here––”
“Here––”