Danny was always front man at the shanty while his cheque was fresh --
at least, so he was given to understand, and so he apparently understood.
He was then allowed to say and do what he liked almost,
even to mauling the barmaid about. There was scarcely any limit
to the free and easy manner in which you could treat her,
so long as your money lasted. She wouldn't be offended; it wasn't business
to be so -- "didn't pay." But, as soon as your title to the cheque
could be decently shelved, you had to treat her like a lady. Danny knew this
-- none better; but he had been treated with too much latitude,
and rushed to his destruction.

It was Sunday afternoon, but that made no difference in things at the shanty.
Dinner was just over. The men were in the mean little parlour off the bar,
interested in a game of cards, and Alice sat in one corner sewing.
Danny was "acting the goat" round the fireplace; as ill-luck would have it,
his attention was drawn to a basket of clean linen which stood
on the side table, and from it, with sundry winks and grimaces,
he gingerly lifted a certain garment of ladies' underwear --
to put the matter decently. He held it up between his forefingers and thumbs,
and cracked a rough, foolish joke -- no matter what it was.
The laugh didn't last long. Alice sprang to her feet,
flinging her work aside, and struck a stage attitude --
her right arm thrown out and the forefinger pointing rigidly,
and rather crookedly, towards the door.

"Leave the room!" she snapped at Danny. "Leave the room!
How dare you talk like that before me-e-ee!"

Danny made a step and paused irresolutely. He was sober enough
to feel the humiliation of his position, and having once been a man of spirit,