"Under my sombrero!" he snapped.
"Hee, hee, hee!" chortled Old John, rubbing his ear again and nudging
Charley. "He ain't no fool, hey?"
"Why, I don't know, John; he won't tell," replied Charley.
Hopalong wheeled and glared at him, and Charley, smiling uneasily, made
an appeal: "Ain't mad, are you?"
"Not yet," and Hopalong turned to the bar again, took up his liquor
and tossed it off. Considering a moment he shoved the glass back again,
while Old John tongued his lips in anticipation of a treat. "It is
good--fill it again."
The third was even better and by the time the fourth and fifth had
joined their predecessors Hopalong began to feel a little more cheerful.
But even the liquor and an exceptionally well-cooked supper could not
separate him from his persistent and set grouch. And of liquor he had
already taken more than his limit. He had always boasted, with truth,
that he had never been drunk, although there had been two occasions when
he was not far from it. That was one doubtful luxury which he could not
afford for the reason that there were men who would have been glad to
see him, if only for a few seconds, when liquor had dulled his brain and
slowed his speed of hand. He could never tell when and where he might
meet one of these.
He dropped into a chair by a card table and, baffling all attempts
to engage him in conversation, reviewed his troubles in a mumbled
soliloquy, the liquor gradually making him careless.
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