in their hands, were watching the scene.
'I arst you civil enough, didn't I?' said the old man, straightening
his shoulders pugnaciously. 'You telling me you ain't got a pint mug in the
'ole bleeding boozer?'
'And what in hell's name is a pint?' said the barman, leaning forward
with the tips of his fingers on the counter.
'Ark at 'im! Calls 'isself a barman and don't know what a pint is!
Why, a pint's the 'alf of a quart, and there's four quarts to the gallon.
'Ave to teach you the A, B, C next.'
'Never heard of 'em,' said the barman shortly. 'Litre and half litre
-- that's all we serve. There's the glasses on the shelf in front of you.'
'I likes a pint,' persisted the old man. 'You could 'a drawed me off a
pint easy enough. We didn't 'ave these bleeding litres when I was a young
man.'
'When you were a young man we were all living in the treetops,' said
the barman, with a glance at the other customers.
There was a shout of laughter, and the uneasiness cause