Here was a spirit that time had not dulled--it was like wine soured in an old cask.

At any rate, wine it had been, not water, and that was something.
Most of the counter customers had drifted out when, without warning, the screen door banged loudly open and Gray looked up from his plate to see his recent acquaintance of the gambling table approaching.

This time purpose was stamped upon the man's face, but whether it was deliberate or merely the result of more drinking there was no telling.
He lurched directly up to the table and stared across at Gray.
"Slapped my face, didn't you ?" he cried, after a menacing moment.
"I did, indeed," the speaker nodded, pleasantly.
"You ain't going to slap it again.

You ain't going to slap anybody's--" "What makes you think I won't ?" Gray became aware as he spoke that his elderly neighbor had raised to the intruder a countenance stamped with a peculiar expression of incredulity, almost of anger, at the interruption, and that the two remaining counter customers had turned startled faces over their shoulders, while the proprietor, his arms full of dishes, had paused beside the swinging door to the kitchen.
That which occurred next came unexpectedly.

The stranger whipped out from under his coat a revolver, at the same time voicing a profane answer to the challenge.