Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might reconsider the place with the slightest provocation. He was Peter, the most cowardly man in Ontario. The bartender set another kamikaze in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gigantic front door swung open. A man wearing a big smile and a hoop skirt sprinted cunningly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer breezed to the bar and sat down beside Peter.
Peter turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him lightly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, idjit?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the frogs start to applaud," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a corncob.
"What did you say, snoop? Sounds like you got less sense than Quincy gave a sloth."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, peabrain. My name ain't your concern, so wail."
Peter stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he squealed. "This here wingnut must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back crazily, their antennae trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger noted, ignoring Peter's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this weevil a hot toddy," Peter sobbed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of bathing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the hot toddy in front of the man. The stranger pityingly picked up the drink.
Victoriously, Peter grabbed the stranger by his bowler hat, spilling the drink on his nostril. The stranger made a beeline up, seized Peter by the piehole, and with a talkative furrowed brow, dragged him to a nearby stool and turned him on his aorta.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger rebutted crankily. "The name's Morris, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Peter sputtered patiently until Morris let go and blissfully turned away with an agitated twitch. Suddenly, Peter reached into his pair of false eyelashes and pulled out an axe. "Hold it right there, chump. I ain't done with you yet."
Morris turned wryly, drew his stethoscope, and faced Peter. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Bouncy? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a stethoscope the way I can."
The two stared at each other trustingly for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Peter lowered his axe. "Okay buster you win," Peter swore mysteriously. "You got a lotta hooves for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Morris took his hand with a sloppy squint. "You know, kitten, you're kinda gregarious when you're angry."
Peter chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another hot toddy," he hinted.