"Whisky and pain both taste the same, during the time they go down! D'ja hear that!" shouts Clifton.

"Don't get no better than that," Rob agrees, spinning his rub o' the brush, "no better."

All around them the room's gone mad, on its feet, jumping, screaming, crying for joy mad!

And amid the delirium, the shadowed stranger cases his Gibson and slips slowly, silently through the writhing throng. Then he gone.

"Bartender!" barks Clifton. "You see that guy again, all his drinks are on me, see?"

Rob nods approvingly. "Your learning, my man," he says with a wink. "You're learnin'."