ening, Martin--evening, Hawkins," he said jauntily; and advancing
to the bar, "The usual, Martin."

As he gave the order and as the landlord turned to execute it,
exhibiting a sort of half-amused deference, the embarrassed glance of
Hawkins, who was watching me uncomfortably, drew the newcomer's
attention to my presence. He turned in a flash and I saw those parts
of his face which were visible between the pieces of strapping to turn
fierily red. His brown eyes glared at me, and:

"Martin!" he cried, throwing out his hand in the landlord's direction,
"Martin, damn you! There is a stranger here! Why the devil didn't you
tell me?"

"Sorry, Mr. Edward," said the landlord, setting a glass of whisky
before the excited man. "No time."

"It's a lie!" cried the other, with a wild fury which so trivial a
matter did not seem to warrant, "a deliberate damned lie! You want to
make me the laughing-stock of the place!"

Taking up the newly-filled glass, he dashed it violently to the sanded
floor, so that it was shattered to bits. Then, snatching off his hat,
he held it as a shield between my inquiring gaze and his plastered
face, and ran out of the room. At the door:

"Damn you all!" he shouted back at us.

I heard his quick footsteps receding. Then, as he turned the corner
the sound died away. I looked across at Hawkins. He was staring into
his tankard with which he was describing slow circles as if to stir
the contents. Martin, having raised the bar-flap was phlegmatically
engaged in sweeping up the fragments of glass into a dustpan. It came
to me all at once that these simple folk regarded the other's outburst
as a personal matter; their attitude was that of the grieved elders of
a family, some member of which has misbehaved himself. But assuredly I
was not prepared to concur in this shielding silence; the pressman
within me demanded an explanation.

"A strange young man," I said tentatively. "Very touchy, I should
think?"

"Touchy?" repeated Hawkins, glancing up quickly. "I seen him take Tom
Pike by the scruff of his neck and the seat of his pants and pitch him
in the horse-trough for askin' of him who his tailor was, I have."

"Indeed," said I, "a local Carpentier, no doubt?"

"Ah," said Martin, glancing at me as he turned to his seat behind the
bar. "Very 'andy with 'is 'ands."

"He is evidently acutely sensitive of his present disfigurement. Might
I suggest that his most recent encounter was with a barbed-wire
e