wly, and recognized the landlord. But the
intruder, apparently awed by the gentle, grave, and studious figure
before him, fell back for an instant in an attitude of surly apology.

"Enter freely, my good Jenkinson," said Don Jose, with a quiet courtesy
that had all the effect of irony. "The apartment, such as it is, is at
your disposition. It is even yours, as is the house."

"Well, I'm darned if I know as it is," said the landlord, recovering
himself roughly, "and that's jest what's the matter. Yer's that man of
yours smashing things right and left in the bar-room and chuckin' my
waiters through the window."

"Softly, softly, good Jenkinson," said Don Jose, putting a mark in the
pages of the volume before him. "It is necessary first that I should
correct your speech. He is not my 'MAN,' which I comprehend to mean a
slave, a hireling, a thing obnoxious to the great American nation which
I admire and to which HE belongs. Therefore, good Jenkinson, say
'friend,' 'companion,' 'guide,' philosopher,' if you will. As to the
rest, it is of no doubt as you relate. I myself have heard the
breakings of glass and small dishes as I sit here; three times I have
seen your waiters projected into the road with much violence and
confusion. To myself I have then said, even as I say to you, good
Jenkinson, 'Patience, patience, the end is not far.' In four hours,"
continued Don Jose, holding up four fingers, "he shall make a finish.
Until then, not."

"Well, I'm d--d," ejaculated Jenkinson, gasping for breath in his
indignation.

"Nay, excellent Jenkinson, not dam-ned but of a possibility dam-AGED.
That I shall repay when he have make a finish."

"But, darn it all," broke in the landlord angrily.

"Ah," said Don Jose gravely, "you would be paid before! Good; for how
much shall you value ALL you have in your bar?"

Don Jose's imperturbability evidently shook the landlord's faith in the
soundness of his own position. He looked at his guest critically and
audaciously.

"It cost me two hundred dollars to fit it up," he said curtly.

Don Jose rose, and, taking a buckskin purse from his saddle-bag,
counted out four slugs[1] and handed them to the stupefied Jenkinson.
The next moment, however, his host recovered himself, and casting the
slugs back on the little table, brought his fist down with an emphasis
that made them dance.

"But, look yer--suppose I want this thing stopped--you hear
me--STOPPED--now."

"That would