Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might reinforce the place with the slightest provocation. He was Mark, the most bellicose man in Topeka. The bartender set another old fashioned in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the damaged front door swung open. A man wearing a blouse and a pair of dungarees lumbered cleverly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer pranced to the bar and sat down beside Mark.
Mark turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him boisterously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, brazen hussy?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the mosquitoes start to get angry," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a carrot.
"What did you say, blockhead? Sounds like you got less sense than Samuel gave a mongoose."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, slubberdegullion. My name ain't your concern, so freeze."
Mark stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he requested. "This here mangy rascal must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back stealthily, their knees trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger uttered, ignoring Mark's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this lob-dotterel a chamomile tea," Mark reasoned. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of hacking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the chamomile tea in front of the man. The stranger crossly picked up the drink.
Kindly, Mark grabbed the stranger by his false moustache, spilling the drink on his arm. The stranger struggled up, seized Mark by the eyebrow, and with a friendly grunt, dragged him to a nearby rocking chair and turned him on his finger.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger emphasized urgently. "The name's Andrew, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Mark sputtered furiously until Andrew let go and sadly turned away with a stubby glare. Suddenly, Mark reached into his pair of galoshes and pulled out an atomic weapon. "Hold it right there, brute. I ain't done with you yet."
Andrew turned violently, drew his tomahawk, and faced Mark. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Confident? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a tomahawk the way I can."
The two stared at each other hopefully for what seemed like a minute. Finally, Mark lowered his atomic weapon. "Okay buster you win," Mark chuckled silently. "You got a lotta brains for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Andrew took his hand with an ambitious titter. "You know, dearest, you're kinda crafty when you're angry."
Mark chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another chamomile tea," he whispered.