Said Johnson, backing into a corner, Arkansas following, menacingly: 

“Why, I never said nothing, Mr. Arkansas.  You don’t give a man no chance.  I was only goin’ to say that Pennsylvania was goin’ to have an election next week—­that was all—­that was everything I was goin’ to say —­I wish I may never stir if it wasn’t.”

“Well then why d’n’t you say it?  What did you come swellin’ around that way for, and tryin’ to raise trouble?”

“Why I didn’t come swellin’ around, Mr. Arkansas—­I just—­”

“I’m a liar am I!  Ger-reat Caesar’s ghost—­”

“Oh, please, Mr. Arkansas, I never meant such a thing as that, I wish I may die if I did.  All the boys will tell you that I’ve always spoke well of you, and respected you more’n any man in the house.  Ask Smith.  Ain’t it so, Smith?  Didn’t I say, no longer ago than last night, that for a man that was a gentleman all the time and every way you took him, give me Arkansas?  I’ll leave it to any gentleman here if them warn’t the very words I used.  Come, now, Mr. Arkansas, le’s take a drink—­le’s shake hands and take a drink.  Come up—­everybody!  It’s my treat.  Come up, Bill, Tom, Bob, Scotty—­come up.  I want you all to take a drink with me and Arkansas—­old Arkansas, I call him—­bully old Arkansas.  Gimme your hand agin.  Look at him, boys—­just take a look at him.  Thar stands the whitest man in America!—­and the man that denies it has got to fight me, that’s all.  Gimme that old flipper agin!”

They embraced, with drunken affection on the landlord’s part and unresponsive toleration on the part of Arkansas, who, bribed by a drink, was disappointed of his prey once more.  But the foolish landlord was so happy to have escaped butchery, that he went on talking when he ought to have marched himself out of danger.  The consequence was that Arkansas shortly began to glower upon him dangerously, and presently said: 

“Lan’lord, will you p-please make that remark over agin if you please?”

“I was a-sayin’ to Scotty that my father was up’ards of eighty year old when he died.”

“Was that all that you said?”

“Yes, that was all.”

“Didn’t say nothing but that?”

“No—­nothing.”

Then an uncomfortable silence.

Arkansas played with his glass a moment, lolling on his elbows on the counter.  Then he meditatively scratched his left shin with his right boot, while the awkward silence continued.  But presently he loafed away toward the stove, looking dissatisfied; roughly shouldered two or three men out of a comfortable position; occupied it himself, gave a sleeping dog a kick that sent him howling under a bench, then spread his long legs and his blanket-coat tails apart and proceeded to warm his back.  In a little while he fell to grumbling to himself, and soon he slouched back to the bar and said: 

“Lan’lord, what’s your idea for rakin’ up old personalities and blowin’ about your father?  Ain’t this company agreeable to you?  Ain’t it?  If this company ain’t agreeable to you, p’r’aps we’d better leave.  Is that your idea?  Is that what you’re coming at?”