Two or three passengers had got down to refresh themselves at the bar.
His right and left hand neighbors were, however, engaged in a drawling
conversation on the comparative merits of San Francisco sandhill
and water lots; the jocular occupants of the middle seat were still
engrossed with the lady. Clarence slipped out of the stage and entered
the bar-room with some ostentation. The complete ignoring of his person
by the barkeeper and his customers, however, somewhat disconcerted him.
He hesitated a moment, and then returned gravely to the stage door and
opened it.

"Would you mind taking a drink with me, sir?" said Clarence politely,
addressing the farmer-looking passenger who had been most civil to him.
A dead silence followed. The two men on the middle seat faced entirely
around to gaze at him.

"The Commodore asks if you'll take a drink with him," explained one of
the men to Clarence's friend with the greatest seriousness.

"Eh? Oh, yes, certainly," returned that gentleman, changing his
astonished expression to one of the deepest gravity, "seeing it's the
Commodore."

"And perhaps you and your friend will join, too?" said Clarence timidly
to the passenger who had explained; "and you too, sir?" he added to the
dark man.

"Really, gentlemen, I don't see how we can refuse," said the latter,
with the greatest formality, and appealing to the others. "A compliment
of this kind from our distinguished friend is not to be taken lightly."