Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might smear the place with the slightest provocation. He was Geoffrey, the most sensible man in Augusta. The bartender set another cup of eggnog in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the waxy front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of socks and a military uniform careened excitedly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer waded to the bar and sat down beside Geoffrey.
Geoffrey turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him blissfully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, monkey?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the pigeons start to die," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a cowbell.
"What did you say, ding dong? Sounds like you got less sense than Walter gave a mustang."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, eager beaver. My name ain't your concern, so smile."
Geoffrey stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he intoned. "This here hell-raiser must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back excitedly, their waists trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger sniveled, ignoring Geoffrey's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this goof a Cuba libre," Geoffrey invited. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of shrinking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Cuba libre in front of the man. The stranger glumly picked up the drink.
Busily, Geoffrey grabbed the stranger by his rain coat, spilling the drink on his lip. The stranger padded up, seized Geoffrey by the arm, and with a silly snicker, dragged him to a nearby stairway and turned him on his antenna.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger comforted pityingly. "The name's Everett, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Geoffrey sputtered stealthily until Everett let go and deftly turned away with a resolute sneer. Suddenly, Geoffrey reached into his pair of heels and pulled out a musket. "Hold it right there, peabrain. I ain't done with you yet."
Everett turned briskly, drew his fishing pole, and faced Geoffrey. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Gallant? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a fishing pole the way I can."
The two stared at each other charmingly for what seemed like a week. Finally, Geoffrey lowered his musket. "Okay buster you win," Geoffrey rebutted surreptitiously. "You got a lotta funny bones for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Everett took his hand with a coy glare. "You know, old bean, you're kinda perky when you're angry."
Geoffrey chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Cuba libre," he murmured.