A bench was upset, while broken bottles and crockery lay strewn about over a floor reeking with filth.
The disgust on my face called forth an apology from the younger Hill, who was serving up ham and eggs as best he could to the men lounging about the table.
"It's my housemaid's afternoon out," he explained gravely.
"Gone for a walk in the park," added an other.
"Hope MISTER Connor will pardon the absence," sneered Bruce, in his most offensive manner.
"Don't mind him," said Hi, under his breath, "the blue devils are runnin' him down." This became more evident as the evening went on.

From hilarity Bruce passed to sullen ferocity, with spasms of nervous terror.

Hi's attempts to soothe him finally drove him mad, and he drew his revolver, declaring he could look after himself, in proof of which he began to shoot out the lights.
The men scrambled into safe corners, all but The Duke, who stood quietly by watching Bruce shoot.

Then saying: "Let me have a try, Bruce," he reached across and caught his hand.
"No! you don't," said Bruce, struggling.

"No man gets my gun." He tore madly at the gripping hand with both of his, but in vain, calling out with frightful oaths: "Let go! let go! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" With a furious effort he hurled himself back from the table, dragging The Duke partly across.