remember t—there’s ladies p—present!"

The pale man looked towards the kitchen, and, seeing the woman, he gave
Simpson a look in which there was only contempt. "You’ve hid behind the
law once, and this time it’s petticoats. The open don’t seem to have no
charm for you. But—" He didn’t finish, there was no need to. Every one
knew and understood. He put up his revolver and walked into the street.

The men broke into shouts of laughter, loud and ringing, then doubled up
and had it out all over again. And their noisy merriment was as clear an
indication of the suddenly lifted strain, at the averted shooting, as it
was of their enjoyment of the farce. Simpson, relieved of the fear of
sudden death, now sought to put a better face on his cowardice. Now that
his enemy was well out of sight, Simpson handled his revolver with easy
assurance.

"Put ut up," shouted Costigan, above the general uproar. "’Tis toime to
fear a revolver in the hands av Simpson whin he’s no intinsions av
shootin’."

Simpson still attempted to harangue the crowd, but his voice was lost in
the general thigh-slapping and the shouts and roars that showed no signs
of abating. But when he caught a man by the coat lapel in his efforts to
secure a hearing, that was another matter, and the man shook him off as if
his touch were contagion. Simpson, craving mercy on account of petticoats,
evading a meeting that was "up to him," they were willing to stand as a
laughing-stock, but Simpson as an equal, grasping the lapels of their
coats, they would have none of.

He slunk away from them to a corner of the eating-house, feeling the