This cheerful invitation to the tavern was the remains of a huge panther which had been killed in the region a few weeks before.

Philip examined his ugly visage and strong crooked fore-arm, as he was waiting admittance, having pounded upon the door.
"Yait a bit.

I'll shoost--put on my trowsers," shouted a voice from the window, and the door was soon opened by the yawning landlord.
"Morgen! Didn't hear d' drain oncet.

Dem boys geeps me up zo spate.
Gom right in." Philip was shown into a dirty bar-room.

It was a small room, with a stove in the middle, set in a long shallow box of sand, for the benefit of the "spitters," a bar across one end--a mere counter with a sliding glass-case behind it containing a few bottles having ambitious labels, and a wash-sink in one corner.