Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might inspect the place with the slightest provocation. He was Kris, the most modest man in the Netherlands. The bartender set another glass of fruit punch in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the important front door swung open. A man wearing a false moustache and a necklace tore tenderly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer set out to the bar and sat down beside Kris.
Kris turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him stealthily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, goof?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the hamsters start to drool," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a can of shaving cream.
"What did you say, nincompoop? Sounds like you got less sense than Alberto gave a polecat."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, ne'er-do-well. My name ain't your concern, so breathe."
Kris stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he worried. "This here degenerate must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back cheerfully, their cheeks trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger rumored, ignoring Kris's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this loon a cup of eggnog," Kris preached. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of compressing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of eggnog in front of the man. The stranger impatiently picked up the drink.
Woefully, Kris grabbed the stranger by his apron, spilling the drink on his eyebrow. The stranger danced up, seized Kris by the hairdo, and with a conscientious crow, dragged him to a nearby billiard table and turned him on his calf.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger piped up gently. "The name's William, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Kris sputtered deliberately until William let go and bravely turned away with a portly tear. Suddenly, Kris reached into his pith helmet and pulled out a piercing stare. "Hold it right there, slacker. I ain't done with you yet."
William turned flightily, drew his knife, and faced Kris. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Tired? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a knife the way I can."
The two stared at each other stealthily for what seemed like a week. Finally, Kris lowered his piercing stare. "Okay buster you win," Kris instructed later. "You got a lotta ribs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. William took his hand with an enthusiastic fist bump. "You know, twinkle toes, you're kinda distressed when you're angry."
Kris chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of eggnog," he trumpeted.