"Good-evening," said Demorest pleasantly.
Whiskey Dick's face brightened. "Good-evenin', good-evenin' yourselves,
boys--and see how you like it! Lemme interdrush my ole frien' William
J. Steptoe, of Red Gulch. Stepsho--Steptoe--is shtay--ish stay--"
He stopped, hiccupped, waved his hand gravely, and with an air of
reproachful dignity concluded, "sojourning for the present on the Bar.
We wish to offer our congrashulashen and felish--felish--" He paused
again, and, leaning against the door-post, added severely, "--itations."
His companion, however, laughed coarsely, and, pushing past Dick,
entered the cabin. He was a short, powerful man, with a closely cropped
crust of beard and hair that seemed to adhere to his round head like
moss or lichen. He cast a glance--furtive rather than curious around
the cabin, and said, with a familiarity that had not even good humor
to excuse it, "So you're the gay galoots who've made the big strike?
Thought I'd meander up the Hill with this old bloat Alky, and drop in
to see the show. And here you are, feeling your oats, eh? and not caring
any particular G-d d--n if school keeps or not."
"Show Mr. Steptoe--the whiskey," said Demorest to Stacy. Then quietly
addressing Dick, but ignoring Steptoe as completely as Steptoe had
ignored his unfortunate companion, he said, "You quite startled us at
first. We did not see you come up the trail.
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