Devon blinked in annoyance at the man who he assumed was the innkeeper. He was far too loud; put a sword in his hand and light armour on him and he could have been any of the men Devon'd had to fight alongside during the war. And he was obviously drunk too. How many people stopped by here, if he could afford to do that?

The innkeeper walked off just as a midget clambered up onto the stool. He'd seen people move faster than that undersized man did, but not very many. Clearly alcohol lit a fire under his belly; figuratively of course. 

[i]""Ehm...excuse me, Sir Dwarf, but do you have a chair better suited for my unsuitable height? Hey, where did you go?"[/i]

Devon looked around. There weren't any higher chairs as far as he could see, the tip box might have let the midget reach the counter but it would be harder for him to get down... 

No, sometimes the best solution was the simplest one. 

He strode forward and picked up the midget by his collar, moving to plop him down on the counter so the bar chair was slightly behind him– but what if the midget lost his grip on the chair while trying to climb down in a drunken haze? 

Offering assistance would probably help. "Let me know if you need help getting down later, alright?"