He hurled himself into the room, the crowd falling back from him on either hand.
"Hola!" he yelled, "Sacre bleu!" He took two quick steps, and springing up into the air he kicked the stovepipe that ran along some seven feet above the floor.
"Purty good kicking," called out Yankee, sliding down from his seat.
"Used to kick some myself.

Excuse ME." He stood for a moment looking up at the stovepipe, then without apparent effort he sprang into the air, shot up his long legs, and knocked the stovepipe with a bang against the ceiling.

There was a shout of admiration.
"My damages," he said to Pat Murphy, who stood behind the counter.

"Good thing there ain't no fire.

Thought it was higher.