Jansen, the big Swede, was the first to finish his meal in Drew’s dining-room.  For that matter, he was always first.  He ate with astonishing expedition, lowering his head till that tremendous, shapeless mouth was close to the plate and then working knife and fork alternately with an unfaltering industry.  To-night, spurred on by a desire to pass through this mechanical effort and be prepared for the coming action, his speed was something truly marvellous.  He did not appear to eat; the food simply vanished from the plate; it was absorbed like a mist before the wind.  While the others were barely growing settled in their places, Jansen was already through.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, produced Durham and papers, and proceeded to light up.  Lawlor, struggling still to re-establish himself in the eyes of Bard as the real William Drew, seized the opportunity to exert a show of authority.  He smashed his big fist on the table.

“Jansen!” he roared.

“Eh?” grunted the Swede.

“Where was you raised?”

“Me?”

“You, square-head.”

“Elvaruheimarstadhaven.”

“Are you sneezin’ or talkin’ English?”

Jansen, irritated, bellowed:  “Elvaruheimarstadhaven!  That’s where I was born.”

“That’s where you was born?  Elvaru—­damn such a language!  No wonder you Swedes don’t know nothin’.  It takes all your time learnin’ how to talk your lingo.  But if you ain’t never had no special trainin’ in manners, I’m goin’ to make a late start with you now.  Put out that cigarette!”

The pale eyes of Jansen stared, fascinated; the vast mouth fell agape.

“Maybe,” he began, and then finished weakly:  “I be damned!”

“There ain’t no reasonable way of doubtin’ that unless you put out that smoke.  Hear me?”

Shorty Kilrain, coming from the kitchen, grinned broadly.  Having felt the lash of discipline himself, he was glad to see it fall in another place.  He continued his gleeful course around that side of the table.

And big Jansen slowly, imperturbably, raised the cigarette and inhaled a mighty cloud of smoke which issued at once in a rushing, fine blue mist, impelled by a snort.

“Maybe,” he rumbled, completing his thought, “maybe you’re one damn fool!”

“I’m going to learn you who’s boss in these parts,” boomed Lawlor.  “Put out that cigarette!  Don’t you know no better than to smoke at the table?”

Jansen pushed back his chair and started to rise.  There was no doubt as to his intentions; they were advertised in the dull and growing red which flamed in his face.  But Kilrain, as though he had known such a moment would come, caught the Swede by the shoulders and forced him back into the chair.  As he did so he whispered something in the ear of Jansen.

“Let him go!” bellowed Lawlor.  “Let him come on.  Don’t hold him.  I ain’t had work for my hands for five years.  I need exercise, I do.”