He scented conflict, and his spirits rose at the thought. Some reckless
demon of adventure possessed him; some fatalistic courage was upon him.
So far as the eye could see, the liquor he had drunk had done no more
than darken the blue of his eye, for his hand was steady, his body was
well poised, his look was direct; there seemed some strange electric
force in leash behind his face, a watchful yet nonchalant energy of
spirit, joined to an indolent pose of body. As the girl looked at him
something of his unreckoning courage passed into her. Somehow she
believed in him, felt that by some wild chance he might again conquer
this truculent element now almost surrounding him. She spoke quickly to
her step-father. "He won't go. What can we do?"

"You go, and he'll follow," said Theophile, who didn't want a row--
a dangerous row-in his house.

"No, he won't," she said; "and I don't believe they'd let him follow me."

There was no time to say more. The crowd were insistent and restless
now. They seemed to have a plan of campaign, and they began to carry it
out. First one, then another, brushed roughly against Charley. Cool and
collected, he refused to accept the insults.

"Pardon," he said, in each case; "I am very awkward."

He smiled all the time; he seemed waiting. The pushing and crowding
became worse. "Don't mention it," he said. "You should learn how to
carry your liquor in your legs."

Suddenly he changed from apology to attack. He talked at them with a