f abusive profanity. Some of those
present had been witnesses of the previous affair, and realizing what
the pastoral visit might mean, they added their voices to the uproar.
The language was emphatic rather than concise. The women, too, gave free
rein to their tongues, but their observations reflected on their male
escorts more harshly than they did on any one or anything else.

However puzzled Hartigan might be by the complexities of the female
mind, the mental processes of the unlettered male were quite familiar to
him and he showed his comprehension by a simple challenge.

"Now, boys, I don't want to seem thoughtless or indelicate, but I want
you to know that I can lick the whole bunch of you with one hand tied
behind my back and the other in a sling. Not that I have any intention
of doing it, and I apologize to the ladies for mention of the subject,
but it may help us to an understanding. If you have not yet gathered my
meaning, I will put it simpler. I am here to stop this spree before it
begins."

At this moment there was a light shuffling step outside and the door
swung back revealing the small, familiar figure of Jack Lowe. A quick,
meaning look and some sort of indistinguishable signal passed between
Lowe and Pat, whereupon the latter at once placed the keg on the table.

"How do you do, Mr. Hartigan?" said Lowe. "I think we are here for the
same purpose."

"Maybe so," said Jim dryly, "I don't know. I'm here to remove temptation
from our friends, and before I leave I mean to spill that cursed stuff
on the floor."

"You are right," said Lowe, "absolutely right. Pat, let me have that
keg," and the schoolteacher proceeded to hammer around the bung, in the
way of the orthodox bung-starter. There were murmurs and strong words,
but he went on while Hartigan stood guard. The bung came loose, he
lifted it out, and put his nostrils to the hole.

"That's the real stuff, just as it dropped from the quill. Smell that,
Mr. Hartigan. Ain't that the real magollyon? But all the same here she
goes." He tipped the keg a little and some liquor spilled out.

"See that? You get the gold? I tell you, Mr. Hartigan, that green
rot-gut is poison, but you can tell when it's real by the shine. If it
is whiskey it shines yellow like corn, if it is vitriol it shines
green." He took a glass and filled it. "See the gold, and it smells like
corn tossel." He put it to his lips. "That's what puts heart in a man,
and makes him forgive