Something was going on, over in the dimly lighted corner near the
door. Half a dozen men had grouped themselves there with their backs
to Billy and they were talking and laughing; but the speech of them
was an unintelligible clamor and their laughter a commingling roar.
Billy gravely inspected his cigarette, which had gone cold, set down
the glass and sought diligently for a match.

"Aw, come on an' have one on me!" bawled a voice peremptorily. "Yuh
can't raise no wild cattle around _this_ joint, lessen yuh wet up good
with whisky. Why, a feller as long as you be needs a good jolt for
every foot of yuh--and that's about fifteen when you're lengthened
out good. Come on--don't be a damn' chubber! Yuh got to sample m'
hospitality. Hey, Tom! set out about a quart uh your _mildest_ for
Daffy-down-Dilly. He's dry, clean down to his hand-made socks."

Charming Billy, having found a match, held it unlighted in his fingers
and watched the commotion from his perch on the bar. In the very midst
of the clamor towered the melancholy Alexander P. Dill, and he was
endeavoring to explain, in his quiet, grammatical fashion. A lull
that must have been an accident carried the words clearly across to
Charming Billy.

"Thank you, gentlemen. I really don't care for anything in the way
of refreshment. I merely came in to find a friend who has promised to
spend the night with me. It is getting along toward bedtime. Have your
fun, gentlemen, if you must--but I am really too tired to join you."

"Make 'im dance!" yelled the sheepherder, giving over the attempt to
find the sum of twelve and fourteen. "By gosh, yuh made _me_ dance
when I struck town. Make 'im dance!"