their lips instead.
They said yes, they were abiding at the Southern, and thought it a very
good house.
“Yes, yes, the Southern is fair. I myself go to the Planter’s, old,
aristocratic house. We Southern gentlemen don’t change our ways, you
know. I always make it my home there when I run down from Hawkeye–my
plantation is in Hawkeye, a little up in the country. You should know
the Planter’s.”
Philip and Harry both said they should like to see a hotel that had been
so famous in its day–a cheerful hostelrie, Philip said it must have been
where duels were fought there across the dining-room table.
“You may believe it, sir, an uncommonly pleasant lodging. Shall we
walk?”
And the three strolled along the streets, the Colonel talking all the way
in the most liberal and friendly manner, and with a frank open-
heartedness that inspired confidence.
“Yes, born East myself, raised all along, know the West–a great country,
gentlemen. The place for a young fellow of spirit to pick up a fortune,
simply pick it up, it’s lying round loose here. Not a day that I don’t
put aside an opportunity; too busy to look into it. Management of my own
property takes my time. First visit? Looking for an opening?”
“Yes, looking around,” replied Harry.
“Ah, here we are. You’d rather sit here in front than go to my
apartments? So had I. An opening eh?”
The Colonel’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, just so. The country is opening up,
all we want is capital to develop it. Slap down the rails and bring the
land into market. The richest land on God Almighty’s footstool is lying
right out there. If I had my capital free I could plant it for
millions.”
“I suppose your capital is largely in your plantation?” asked Philip.
“Well, partly, sir, partly. I’m down here now with reference to a little
operation–a little side thing merely. By the way gentlemen, excuse the
liberty, but it’s about my usual time”–
The Colonel paused, but as no movement of his acquaintances followed this
plain remark, he added, in an explanatory manner,
“I’m rather particular about the exact time–have to be in this climate.”
Even this open declaration of his hospitable intention not being
understood the Colonel politely said,
“Gentlemen, will you take something?”
Col. Sellers led the way to a saloon on Fourth street under the hotel,
and the young gentlemen fell into the custom of the country.
“Not that,” said the Colonel to the bar-keeper, who shoved along the
counter a bottle of apparently corn-whiskey, as if he had done it before
on the same order; “not that,” with a wave of the hand. “That Otard if
you please. Yes. Never take an inferior liquor, gentlemen, not in the
evening, in this climate. There. That’s the stuff. My respects!”
The hospitable gentleman, having disposed of his liquor, remarking that
it was not quite the thing–“when a man has his own cellar to go to, he
is apt to get a little fastidious about his liquors”–called for cigars.
But the brand offered did not suit him; he motioned the box away, and
asked for some particular Havana’s, those in separate wrappers.
“I always smoke this sort, gentlemen; they are a little more expensive,
but you’ll learn, in this climate, that you’d better not economize on
poor cigars”
Having imparted this valuable piece of information, the Colonel lighted
the fragrant cigar with satisfaction, and then carelessly put his fingers
into his right vest pocket. That movement being without result, with a
shade of disappointment on his face, he felt in his left vest pocket.
Not finding anything there, he looked up with a serious and annoyed air,
anxiously slapped his right pantaloon’s pocket, and then his left, and
exclaimed,
“By George, that’s annoying. By George, that’s mortifying. Never had
anything of that kind happen to me before. I’ve left my pocket-book.
Hold! Here’s a bill, after all. No, thunder, it’s a receipt.”
“Allow me,” said Philip, seeing how seriously the Colonel was annoyed,
and taking out his purse.
The Colonel protested he couldn’t think of it, and muttered something to
the barkeeper about “hanging it up,” but the vender of exhilaration made