ood bread and cheese."

I glanced at him with half-shut eyelids, then I broke off another piece
of bread.

"Maybe you didn't 'ear me?" he shouted again, "I said that was uncommon
good beer."

"I shall be better able to judge of that, my man, after I have tasted
it," I replied.

"Not that beer, little boy,--you ain't going to taste that," he
thundered, "because I 'appens to want it,--see! I 'appens to 'ave a
most aggrawating thirst in my gargler."

A burst of laughter followed this ponderous attempt at humour.

"'And it over, sonny,--I wants it."

I merely raised my head and ran my eyes over him.

He was an ugly brute, and no mistake. A man of tremendous girth.

Although I had no real fear of him,--for, already I had been schooled
to the knowledge that fear and its twin brother worry are man's worst
opponents.--I was a little uncertain as to what the outcome would be if
I got him thoroughly angered. However, I was in no mind to be
interfered with.

He thumped his heavy fist on the table.

"'And that over,--quick," he roared.

His great jaws clamped together and his thick, discoloured lips became
compressed.

"Why!--certainly, my friend," I remarked easily, rising with slow
deliberation. "Which will you have first:--the bread and cheese, or
the ale?"

"'Twere the ale I arst and it's th' ale I wants,--and blamed quick
about it or I'll know the reason w'y."

"Stupid of me!" I remarked. "I should have known you wanted the ale
first. Here you are, my good, genial, handsome fellow."

I picked up the foaming tumbler and offered it to him. When he
stretched out his great, grimy paw to take it, I tossed the stuff smack
into his face, sending showers of the liquid into the gaping
countenances of his supporters.

He staggered back among them, momentarily blinded, and, as he
staggered, I sent the tumbler on the same errand as the ale. It
smashed in a hundred pieces on the side of his broken nose, opening up
an old gash there and sending a stream of blood oozing down over his
mouth.

There was no more laughter, nor grinning. The place was as quiet as a
church during prayer. I pushed into the open saloon, with the
remonstrating Donald at my heels. Then the bull began to roar. He
pulled off his coat, while half a dozen of his own kind endeavoured
with dirty handkerchiefs and rags to mop the blood from his face.

"Shut the door. Don't let 'im away from 'ere," he shouted. "I'll push
his windpipe i