Part 58 (1/2)

”Nothing, sir!”

”Why, sir,” says the young planter, ”it's most astonis.h.i.+ng, for I've just finished swallowing--_three hundred negroes and two cotton plantations!_”

Four young bucks met, some years ago, in a fas.h.i.+onable drinking saloon in Cincinnati. It was one of the most elegant drinking establishments in that part of the country. The young chaps belonged over in Kentucky--daddies rich, and they didn't care a snap! says they, let's have a spree! The ”sham” came in, and they went at it; giving that a fair trial, they took a turn at sherry, hock, and a sample of all the most expensive stuffs the proprietors had on hand. Getting fuddled, they got uproarious; they kicked over the tables and knocked down the waiters. The landlord, not exactly appreciating that sort of ”going on,”

remonstrated, and was met by an array of pistols and knives. Mad and furious, the young chaps made a general onslaught on the people present, who ”dug out” very quick, leaving the baccha.n.a.lians to their glory; whereupon, they fell to and fired their pistols into the mirrors, paintings, chandeliers, &c. Of course the watchmen came in, about the time the young gentlemen finished their youthful indiscretions, and after the usual battering and banging of the now almost inanimate bodies of the quartette, landed them in the calaboose. Next day they settled their bills, and it cost them about $2200! It was rather an expensive lesson, but it's altogether probable that they haven't forgotten a letter of it yet.

A small party of country merchants, traders, &c., were cruising around New York, one evening, seeing the lions, and their cicerone,--by the way, a ”native” who knew what _was_ what,--took them up Broadway, and as they pa.s.sed the Astor House, says one of the strangers:

”Smith, what's this thunderin' big house?”

”O, ah, yes, this,” says the cicerone, Smith, ”_this_, boys, is a great tavern, fine place to get a drink.”

”Well, be hooky, let's all go in.”

In they all went; taking a private room or small side parlor, the country gents requested Smith to do the talking and order in the liquor.

Smith called for a bill of fare, upon which are ”invoiced” more ”sorts”

and harder named wines and _liquors_ than could be committed to memory in a week.

”That's it,” says Smith, marking a bill of fare, and handing it to the servant, ”that's it--two bottles, bring 'em up.”

Up came the wine; it was, of course, elegant. The country gents froze to it. They had never tasted such stuff before, in all their born days!

”Look a here, mister,” says one of the ”business men,” ”got eny more uv that wine?”

”O, yes, sir!” says the servant.

”Well, fetch it in.”

”Two bottles, sir?”

”Two ganders! No, bring in six bottles!--I can go two on 'em myself,”

says the country gent.

The servant delivered his message at the bar, and after a few grimaces and whispering, the servant and one of the bar-keepers, or clerks, carried up the wine. Says the clerk, whispering to Smith, whom he slightly knew:

”Smith, do you know the price of this wine?”

”Certainly I do,” says Smith; ”here it's invoiced on the catalogue, ain't it?”

”O, very well,” says the clerk, about to withdraw.

”Hold on!” says one of the merry country gents, ”don't snake your handsome countenance off so quick; do yer want us to fork rite up fur these drinks?” hauling out his wallet.

”No, yer don't,” says another, hauling out his change.

”My treat, if you please, boys,” says the third, pulling out a handful of small change. ”I asked the party in, an' I pay for what licker we drink--be thunder!”