Thomas Moran Cliffs of Green River

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Hwel gripped the edge of the table and opened his mouth to roar.
And stopped.
He stared at the two figures. His mouth stayed open.
It closed again with a snap.
'Something the matter?' said Tomjon.
Hwel looked away. It had been a long night. 'Trick of the light,' he muttered. 'And I could do with a drink,' he added. 'A bloody good quaff.'
In fact, he thought, why fight it? 'I'll even put up with the singing,' he said.
, urged him to wave his hand at the beetling brows glaring at them through the gloom.
'S'all right,' he said, to the bar at large. 'He don't mean it, he ver' funny 'Was' the nex' wor'?''S'gold. I think.''Ah.'Hwel looked unsteadily into his mug. Drunkenness had this to be said for it, it stopped the flow of inspirations.'And you left out the "gold",' he said.'Where?' said Tomjon. He was wearing the Fool's hat.Hwel considered this. 'I reckon,' he said, concentrating, 'it was between the "gold" and the "gold". An' I reckon,' he peered again into the mug. It was. empty, a horrifying sight. 'I reckon,' he tried again, and finally gave up, and substituted, 'I reckon I could do with another drink.''My shout this time,' said the Fool. 'Hahaha. My squeak. Hahaha.' He tried to stand up, and banged his head.In the gloom of the bar a dozen axes were gripped more firmly. The part of Hwel that was sober, and was horrified to see the rest of him being drunk