The Desire of the Moth; and The Come On | Page 7

a cigar and obtained a light from a shapely bronze lady with a torch. When he came back he fell in on Foy's left; at Foy's right Creagan leaned his elbows on the bar.
"Well, I'm obliged to you, boys," said Foy. "This one's on me. Come on, Joe--have a hoot."
"Thanks, no," said Espalin. "I not dreenkin' none thees times. Eef I dreenk some I get full, and loose my job maybe."
"Vichy," said Foy. "Take something yourself, Max."
As Mr. Max poured the drinks an odd experience befell Mr. Jos�� Espalin. His tilted chair leaned against the casing of the billiard-room door. As Max filled the first glass Espalin became suddenly aware of something round and hard and cold pressed against his right temple. Mr. Espalin felt some curiosity, but he sat perfectly still. The object shifted a few inches; Mr. Espalin perceived from the tail of his eye the large, unfeeling muzzle of a sixshooter; beyond it, a glimpse of the forgotten elderly stranger, Mr. Pringle.
Only Mr. Pringle's fighting face appeared, and that but for a moment; he laid a finger to lip and crouched, hidden by the partition and by Espalin's body. Mr. Espalin gathered that Pringle desired no outcry and shunned observation; he sat motionless accordingly; he felt a hand at his belt, which removed his gun.
"Happy days!" said Foy, and raised his glass to his lips.
Creagan seized the uplifted wrist with both hands, Applegate pounced on the other arm. Pringle leaped through the doorway. But something happened swifter than Pringle's swift rush. Foy's knee shot up to Applegate's stomach. Applegate fell, sprawling. Foy hurled himself on Creagan and bore him crashing to the floor. Foy whirled over; he rose on one hand and knee, gun drawn, visibly annoyed; also considerably astonished at the unexpected advent of Mr. Pringle. Applegate lay groaning on the floor. Pringle kicked his gun from the holster and set foot upon it; one of his own guns covered the bartender and the other kept watch on Espalin, silent on his still-tilted chair.
"Who're you!" challenged Foy.
"Friend with the countersign. Don't shoot! Don't shoot me, anyhow."
Foy rose from hand and knee to knee and foot. This rescuer, so opportunely arrived from nowhere, seemed to be an ally. But to avoid mistakes, Foy's gun followed Pringle's motions, at the same time willing and able to blow out Creagan's brains if advisable. He also acquired Creagan's gun quite subconsciously.
"Let me introduce myself, gentlemen," said Pringle. "I'm Jack-in-a-Pinch, Little Friend of the Under Dog--see Who's This? page two-thirteen. My German friend, come out from behind that bar--hands up--step lively! Spot yourself! My Mexican friend, join Mr. Max. Move, you poisonous little spider--jump! That's better! Gentlemen--be seated! Right there--smack, slapdab on the floor. Sit down and think. Say! I'm serious. Am I going to have to kill some few of you just because you don't know who I am? I'll count three! One! two!--That's it. Very good--hold that--register anticipation! I am a worldly man," said Pringle with emotion, "but this spectacle touches me--it does indeed!"
"I'll get square with you!" gurgled Applegate, as fiercely as his breathless condition would permit.
"George--may I call you George? I don't know your name. You may get square with me, George--but you'll never be square with anyone. You are a rhomboidinaltitudinous isosohedronal catawampus, George!"
George raved unprintably. He made a motion to rise, but reconsidered it as he noted the tension of Pringle's trigger finger.
"Don't be an old fuss-budget, George," said Pringle reprovingly. "Because I forgot to tell you--I've got my gun now--and yours. You won't need to arrest me, though, for I'm hitting the trail in fifteen minutes. But if I wasn't going--and if you had your gun--you couldn't arrest one side of me. You couldn't arrest one of my old boots! Listen, George! You heard this Chris-gentleman give his reasons for wanting peace? Yes? Well, it's oh-so-different here. I hate peace! I loathe, detest, abhor, and abominate peace! My very soul with strong disgust is stirred--by peace! I'm growing younger every year, I don't own any property here, I'm not going to be married; I ain't feeling pretty well anyhow; and if you don't think I'll shoot, try to get up! Just look as if you thought you wanted to wish to try to make an effort to get up."
"How--who----" began Creagan; but Pringle cut him short.
"Ask me no more, sweet! You have no speaking part here. We'll do the talking. I just love to talk. I am the original tongue-tied man; I ebb and flow. Don't let me hear a word from any of you! Well, pardner?"
Foy, still kneeling in fascinated amaze, now rose. Creagan's nose was bleeding profusely.
"That was one awful wallop you handed our gimlet-eyed friend," said Pringle admiringly. "Neatest bit of work I ever saw. Sir, to you! My compliments!" He