And some were dancing to the Irish pipes. And there was a knot
around the Indian conjurer.

But there was one man by himself at a table. And him being so silent,
you'd think he was shouting for attention. He was so restful against
the great commotion, you'd know he was a great man. You might turn
your back on him, and you'd know he was there, though he never even
whispered nor put out a finger. A fat, pleasant, close-coupled man
he was, in loose, green clothes, with gold brocade on them. And there
were two big gold ear-rings in his lobes. He smoked a wee pipe with
the bowl half-ways up it. The pipe was silver and all stem, and the
bowl no bigger than a ten-cent piece. His shoulders were very powerful,
so you'd know he was a man you should be polite to, and out of that
chest of his a great shout could come. He might have been a working-man,
only, when he fingered his pipe, you'd see his hands were as well
kept as a lord's lady's, fine as silk and polished to a degree.
And you'd think maybe a pleasant poet, which is a scarce thing,
until you looked at the brown face of him and big gold ear-rings.
And then you'd know what he was: he was a great sea-captain.

But where did he come from? You might know from the high cheek bones
and the eyes that were on a slant, as it were, that it was an Eastern
man was in it. It might be Java and it might be Borneo, or it might
be the strange country of Japan.

And there were a couple of strange occurrences in the wine-shop.
The Indian juggler was being baited by the fighting men, as people
will be after poking coarse fun at a foreigner. The slim Hindu
fellow wasn't taking it at all well. He was looking with eyes like
gimlets at a big bullock of a soldier that was leading the tormenters.