You Shouted Nobblers Round For All Hands - That's
All Right; It's No More Than Fair And Square Now For The Boys To Shout
For You:" And, With A Horrible Curse, "Fill Up The Bottles; Let's Have
Another Round."
Wiesenhavern kept himself quiet.
One of the ruffians showed his intention
to enter the bar, and play the landlord within. Wiesenhavern coolly
persuaded him back by the promise he would fetch from his room,
"something rowdy, the right old sort of stuff - Champagne Cognac, 'tres vieux'."
The fellows presumed their 'bouncing' was all the go now, and laughed
and cursed in old colonial style.
Wiesenhavern fetched his pistols, and his partner, Johan Brandt,
a double-barrelled gun. Now Mr. Brandt is one of those short,
broad-shouldered, sound, dog-headed Germans, with such a determinate look
when his otherwise slow wrath is stirred up, that it is not advisable
to tackle with his fists, and much less with his rifle. Wiesenhavern,
with that precision of manners, which always gains the point on such occasions,
placed a decanter full of brandy on the bar, and, with cocked pistols
in both hands, said, "Touch it, if you dare; if any one among you got the pluck
to put in his tumbler one drop out of that bottle there, he is a dead man;"
and Mr. Brandt backed him by simply saying:-
"I'll shoot the fellow, like a dog."
What was the result? Of course the same, whenever you deal with knaves -
and you make them understand what you mean.
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