"I have observed, sir, that the Commodore's head is level," returned the
other man with equal gravity.

Clarence could have wished they had not treated his first hospitable
effort quite so formally, but as they stepped from the coach with
unbending faces he led them, a little frightened, into the bar-room.
Here, unfortunately, as he was barely able to reach over the counter,
the barkeeper would have again overlooked him but for a quick glance
from the dark man, which seemed to change even the barkeeper's
perfunctory smiling face into supernatural gravity.

"The Commodore is standing treat," said the dark man, with unbroken
seriousness, indicating Clarence, and leaning back with an air of
respectful formality. "I will take straight whiskey. The Commodore,
on account of just changing climate, will, I believe, for the present
content himself with lemon soda."

Clarence had previously resolved to take whiskey, like the others, but
a little doubtful of the politeness of countermanding his guest's
order, and perhaps slightly embarrassed by the fact that all the other
customers seemed to have gathered round him and his party with equally
immovable faces, he said hurriedly:

"Lemon soda for me, please."

"The Commodore," said the barkeeper with impassive features, as he bent
forward and wiped the counter with professional deliberation, "is right.
No matter how much a man may be accustomed all his life to liquor, when
he is changing climate, gentlemen, he says 'Lemon soda for me' all the
time."