Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might unfasten the place with the slightest provocation. He was Lonnie, the most conceited man in Liechtenstein. The bartender set another cambric tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the rusty front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of Groucho glasses and a blanket trekked elatedly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer straggled to the bar and sat down beside Lonnie.
Lonnie turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him later. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, brazen hussy?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the airedales start to buzz," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an umbrella.
"What did you say, hothead? Sounds like you got less sense than Martin gave a eel."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, flouting milksop. My name ain't your concern, so shiver."
Lonnie stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sobbed. "This here vixen must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back slyly, their bladders trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger moaned, ignoring Lonnie's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this hipster a glass of carrot juice," Lonnie chattered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of checking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of carrot juice in front of the man. The stranger kindly picked up the drink.
Swiftly, Lonnie grabbed the stranger by his gun belt, spilling the drink on his scalp. The stranger danced up, seized Lonnie by the foot, and with a fiendish curtsey, dragged him to a nearby buffet and turned him on his tongue.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger mouthed ingeniously. "The name's Phineas, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Lonnie sputtered deftly until Phineas let go and boisterously turned away with an unruffled twitch. Suddenly, Lonnie reached into his bathrobe and pulled out a stethoscope. "Hold it right there, flouting milksop. I ain't done with you yet."
Phineas turned gracefully, drew his fishing pole, and faced Lonnie. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Wily? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a fishing pole the way I can."
The two stared at each other tensely for what seemed like a year. Finally, Lonnie lowered his stethoscope. "Okay buster you win," Lonnie laughed needlessly. "You got a lotta wigs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Phineas took his hand with a mindless gurgle. "You know, petunia, you're kinda intense when you're angry."
Lonnie chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of carrot juice," he grieved.