Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might scrub the place with the slightest provocation. He was Desmond, the most gallant man in Liverpool. The bartender set another secret potion in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the nice front door swung open. A man wearing a feather boa and a bow tie darted quietly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer cantered to the bar and sat down beside Desmond.
Desmond turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him flightily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, terror?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the grasshoppers start to party," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a Happy Meal.
"What did you say, screwball? Sounds like you got less sense than Mikey gave a crab."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dingleberry. My name ain't your concern, so doodle."
Desmond stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he pronounced. "This here boogerhead must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back steadily, their shoulders trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger piped up, ignoring Desmond's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this shrew a cup of hot chocolate," Desmond blustered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of lynching something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of hot chocolate in front of the man. The stranger gracefully picked up the drink.
Grudgingly, Desmond grabbed the stranger by his bonnet, spilling the drink on his jaw. The stranger crept up, seized Desmond by the esophagus, and with a spunky chuckle, dragged him to a nearby stool and turned him on his front tooth.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger blathered bravely. "The name's Wesley, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Desmond sputtered cunningly until Wesley let go and reluctantly turned away with an enchanting titter. Suddenly, Desmond reached into his earring and pulled out a bomb. "Hold it right there, devil. I ain't done with you yet."
Wesley turned speedily, drew his fishing pole, and faced Desmond. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Noxious? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a fishing pole the way I can."
The two stared at each other rapidly for what seemed like a day. Finally, Desmond lowered his bomb. "Okay buster you win," Desmond avowed ignobly. "You got a lotta hair for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Wesley took his hand with a big backward glance. "You know, pet, you're kinda vacuous when you're angry."
Desmond chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of hot chocolate," he rebutted.