ard with him to be called
down in the middle of a spectacular play, and by a rank stranger, at
that. The chair-warmers of the Hotel Bender bar therefore discreetly
ignored the unexpected rebuke of their chief and proceeded noisily
with their games, but the old man who had paid for the drinks was no
such time-server. After tucking what was left of his money back into
his overalls he balanced against the bar railing for a while and then
steered straight for the dark corner.

"Young feller," he said, leaning heavily upon the table where the
stranger was reading, "I'm old Bill Johnson, of Hell's Hip Pocket, and
I wan'er shake hands with you!"

The young man looked up quickly and the card players stopped as
suddenly in their play, for Old Man Johnson was a fighter in his cups.
But at last the stranger showed signs of friendliness. As the old man
finished speaking he rose with the decorum of the drawing-room and
extended his white hand cordially.

"I'm very glad to meet you, Mr. Johnson," he said. "Won't you sit
down?"

"No," protested the old man, "I do' wanner sit down--I wanner ask you
a question." He reeled, and balanced himself against a chair. "I
wanner ask you," he continued, with drunken gravity, "on the squar',
now, did you ever drink?"

"Why, yes, Uncle," replied the younger man, smiling at the question,
"I used to take a friendly glass, once in a while--but I don't drink
now." He added the last with a finality not to be mistaken, but Mr.
Johnson of Hell's Hip Pocket was not there to urge him on.

"No, no," he protested. "You're mistaken, Mister--er--Mister--"

"Hardy," put in the little man.

"Ah yes--Hardy, eh? And a dam' good name, too. I served under a
captain by that name at old Fort Grant, thirty years ago. Waal, Hardy,
I like y'r face--you look honest--but I wanner ask you 'nuther
question--why don't you drink now, then?"

Hardy laughed indulgently, and his eyes lighted up with good humor, as
if entertaining drunken men was his ordinary diversion.

"Well, I'll tell you, Mr. Johnson," he said. "If I should drink
whiskey the way you folks down here do, I'd get drunk."

"W'y sure," admitted Old Man Johnson, sinking shamelessly into a
chair. "I'm drunk now. But what's the difference?"

Noting the black glances of the barkeeper, Hardy sat down beside him
and pitched the conversation in a lower key.

"It may be all right for you, Mr. Johnson," he continued confidentially,
"and of course that's none