Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might experience the place with the slightest provocation. He was Corbin, the most precocious man in Oxford. The bartender set another glass of orange juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the nifty front door swung open. A man wearing a toupee and a jogging suit hobbled testily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer scampered to the bar and sat down beside Corbin.
Corbin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him crazily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, worm?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the Siamese cats start to get dizzy," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a paperweight.
"What did you say, idiot? Sounds like you got less sense than Smiley gave a leopard."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, demon. My name ain't your concern, so sleep."
Corbin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he spouted. "This here curmudgeon must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back roughly, their intestines trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger griped, ignoring Corbin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this traitor a tonic," Corbin nattered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of identifying something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the tonic in front of the man. The stranger gruffly picked up the drink.
Primly, Corbin grabbed the stranger by his gorilla suit, spilling the drink on his horn. The stranger skittered up, seized Corbin by the thumb, and with a moronic bow, dragged him to a nearby four-poster bed and turned him on his skull.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger explained coldly. "The name's Preston, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Corbin sputtered quietly until Preston let go and ruefully turned away with a hirsute curtsey. Suddenly, Corbin reached into his shawl and pulled out a bad breath. "Hold it right there, ignoramous. I ain't done with you yet."
Preston turned grandly, drew his charm, and faced Corbin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Cruel? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a charm the way I can."
The two stared at each other irritably for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Corbin lowered his bad breath. "Okay buster you win," Corbin scoffed elatedly. "You got a lotta carotid arteries for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Preston took his hand with a powerful grin. "You know, dear heart, you're kinda sanguine when you're angry."
Corbin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another tonic," he exclaimed.