cheerful scorn, a deprecating impertinence, as though they were children;
he chided them with patient imprecations. This confused them for a
moment and cleared a small space around him. There was no defiance in
his aspect, no aggressiveness of manner; he was as quiet as though it
were a drawing-room and he a master of monologues. He hurled original
epithets at them in well-cadenced French, he called them what he listed,
but in language which half-veiled the insults--the more infuriating to
his hearers because they did not perfectly understand.

Suddenly a low-set fellow, with brass rings in his ears, pulled off his
coat and threw it on the floor. "I'll eat your heart," he said, and
rolled up blue sleeves along a hairy arm.

"My child," said Charley, "be careful what you eat. Take up your coat
again, and learn that it is only dogs that delight to bark and bite. Our
little hands were never made to tear each other's eyes."

The low-set fellow made a rush forward, but Rouge Gosselin held him back.
"No, no, Jougon," he said. "I have the oldest grudge."

Jougon struggled with Rouge Gosselin. "Be good, Jougon," said Charley.

As he spoke a heavy tumbler flew from the other side of the room.
Charley saw the missile thrown and dodged. It missed his temple, but
caught the rim of his straw hat, carrying it off his head, and crashed
into a lantern hanging against the wall, putting out the light. The room
was only lighted now by another lantern on the other side of the room.
Charley stooped, picked up his hat, and put it on his head again coolly.

"Stop that, or I'll clear the bar!" cried Theophile Charlemagne, taking