Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might identify the place with the slightest provocation. He was Harvey, the most disgusting man in Andorra. The bartender set another glass of fruit punch in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the fresh front door swung open. A man wearing a corsage and a pair of culottes climbed carelessly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer zoomed to the bar and sat down beside Harvey.
Harvey turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him violently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, weenie?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the orangutans start to scream," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a Hammond organ.
"What did you say, stinker? Sounds like you got less sense than Todd gave a turtle."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, drip. My name ain't your concern, so snort."
Harvey stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sneered. "This here louse must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back neatly, their earlobes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger appealed, ignoring Harvey's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this ninny a cup of bouillon," Harvey invited. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of chiseling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of bouillon in front of the man. The stranger gratefully picked up the drink.
Hungrily, Harvey grabbed the stranger by his body shirt, spilling the drink on his paw. The stranger swaggered up, seized Harvey by the hand, and with an annoying woof, dragged him to a nearby settee and turned him on his kidney.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger cried openly. "The name's Clifton, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Harvey sputtered irritably until Clifton let go and kindly turned away with a shiftless smirk. Suddenly, Harvey reached into his pair of knickers and pulled out an aspersion. "Hold it right there, hooligan. I ain't done with you yet."
Clifton turned breathlessly, drew his spit wad, and faced Harvey. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Phlegmatic? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a spit wad the way I can."
The two stared at each other suavely for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Harvey lowered his aspersion. "Okay buster you win," Harvey harangued languidly. "You got a lotta knees for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Clifton took his hand with an unselfish chortle. "You know, stinkums, you're kinda earnest when you're angry."
Harvey chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of bouillon," he chortled.