The big general-room was hot and its atmosphere almost intolerably foul; the bar, which opened off it, was shadowy, and the crowded figures of lounging men showed dimly through thick cigar smoke.

The hum of their voices died away and there was a curious silence as the women came in.
Edging forward, George saw Beamish leaning on his counter, looking quietly self-possessed and very dapper in his white shirt and well-cut clothes.
"Well," he said, "what do you ladies want with me ?" Their leader faced him, a small and yet commanding figure, with an imperious expression and sparkling eyes.
"You got a notice that from supper-time this bar must be shut!" "I did, ma'am.

It was signed by you.

Now, so far as I know, the magistrates are the only people who can close my hotel." "That's so!" shouted somebody; and there were confused murmurs and harsh laughter which suggested that some of the loungers were not quite sober.
"Fire them out!" cried another man.

"Guess this is why Nelson gets cold potatoes for his supper.