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"Vingt centimes, or go to hell."
The woman demanded the thirty centimes; kept on demanding with a voice
more shrill.
"It was her voice that vexed me," said the Australian. "That and the
bloody injustice."
The five Australians drank the five glasses of porto, and the tall
Australian paid the thirty centimes each without further argument.
Life is too short for argument. Then, without words, he took each of
the five glasses, broke it at the stem, and dropped it over the
counter.
"You will see, sir," he said, gravely, "the justice of the matter on
my side."
But when they left the estaminet the woman came shrieking into the
street after them. Hence the agent de police and the grasp on the
Australian's wrist.
"I should be glad if you would explain the case to this little
Frenchman," said the soldier. "If he does not take his hand off my
wrist I shall have to kill him."
"Perhaps a little explanation might serve," I said.
I spoke to the agent de police at some length, describing the incident
in the cafe.


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