It wasn't any pretty thing to see. The tenderfoot, he
turned to the bar again.
"'If you don't mind,' he says, 'I think I'll switch my order and take
that whisky instead. I seem to need it.'
"'Son!' says I, 'there ain't nothin' in the house you can't have for the
askin'. Try some of this!'
"And I pulled out a bottle of my private stock--you know the stuff; I've
had it twenty-five years, and it was ten years old when I got it. That
ain't as much of a lie as it sounds.
"He takes a glass of it and sips it, sort of suspicious, like a wolf
scentin' the wind for an elk in winter. Then his face lighted up like a
lantern had been flashed on it. You'd of thought that he was lookin' his
long-lost brother in the eye from the way he smiled at me. He holds the
glass up and lets the light come through it, showin' the little traces
and bubbles of oil.
"'May I know your name?' he says.
"It made me feel like Rockerbilt, hearin' him say that, in _that_
special voice.
"'Me,' says I, 'I'm Flanders.'
"'It's an honour to know you, Mr. Flanders,' he says. 'My name is
Anthony Bard.
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