The room being small and very close, and heated by an immense stove, the
stench was intolerable.--Behind the bar was a villainous looking
Irishman, whose countenance expressed as much intellect or humanity as
that of a hog. This was Pat Mulligan, and he was busily engaged in
dealing out the delectable nectar called 'blue ruin' at the very
moderate rate of one penny per gill.

A _very_ important man, forsooth, was that Irish 'landlord,' in the
estimation of himself and customers.--None dare address him without
prefixing a deferential '_Mr._' to his name; and Frank Sydney was both
amused and irritated as he observed the brutal insolence with which the
low, ignorant ruffian treated the poor miserable wretches, from whose
scanty pence he derived his disgraceful livelihood.

'Mr. Mulligan,' said a pale, emaciated woman, whose hollow cheek and
sunken eye eloquently proclaimed her starving condition--'won't you
trust me for a sixpenny loaf of bread until to-morrow? My little girl,
poor thing, is dying, and I have eaten nothing this day.' And the poor
creature wept.

'Trust ye!' roared the Irishman, glaring ferociously upon her--'faith,
it's not exactly _trust_ I'll give ye; but I'll give ye a beating
that'll not leave a whole bone in your skin, if ye are not out of this
place in less time than it takes a pig to grunt.'

The poor woman turned and left the place, with a heavy heart, and Ragged
Pete, deeming this a good opportunity to begin hostilities, advanced to
the bar with a swagger, and said to the Irishman,--

'You're too hard upon that woman, Pat.'

'What's that to you, ye dirty spalpeen?' growled Mulligan, savagely.

'This much,' responded Pete, seizing an immense earthen pitcher which
stood on the counter, and hurling it with unerring aim at the head of
the Irishman. The vessel broke into a hundred pieces, and though it
wounded Mulligan dreadfully, he was not disabled; for, grasping an axe
which stood within his reach, he rushed from behind the bar, and
swinging the formidable weapon aloft, he would have cloven in twain the
skull of Ragged Pete, had not that gentleman evaded him with much
agility, and closing with him, bore him to the floor, and began to
pummel him vigorously.

No sooner did the customers of Pat Mulligan see their dreaded landlord
receiving a sound thrashing, then all fear of him vanished; and, as they
all hated the Irish bully, and smarted under the remembrance of
numerous insults and wrongs