Fierce though it was, and noisy, it was purely a local disturbance. At
the far end of the bar the barkeepers still dispensed drinks, and in
the next room the music was on and the dancers afoot. The gamblers
continued their play, and at only the near tables did they evince any
interest in the affair.
"Knock'm down an' drag'm out!" Del Bishop grinned, as he fought for a
brief space shoulder to shoulder with Corliss.
Corliss grinned back, met the rush of a stalwart dog-driver with a
clinch, and came down on top of him among the stamping feet. He was
drawn close, and felt the fellow's teeth sinking into his ear. Like a
flash, he surveyed his whole future and saw himself going one-eared
through life, and in the same dash, as though inspired, his thumbs flew
to the man's eyes and pressed heavily on the balls. Men fell over him
and trampled upon him, but it all seemed very dim and far away. He
only knew, as he pressed with his thumbs, that the man's teeth wavered
reluctantly. He added a little pressure (a little more, and the man
would have been eyeless), and the teeth slackened and slipped their
grip.
After that, as he crawled out of the fringe of the melee and came to
his feet by the side of the bar, all distaste for fighting left him.
He had found that he was very much like other men after all, and the
imminent loss of part of his anatomy had scraped off twenty years of
culture.
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