Ten Nights in a Bar Room | Page 2

to be a little partial and over fond."
"Better that extreme than its opposite," I remarked.
"Just what I always say. Frank, my son,"--the landlord spoke to the
boy--"there's some one in the bar. You can wait on him as well as I
can."
The lad glided from the room in ready obedience.
"A handy boy that, sir; a very handy boy. Almost as good, in the bar as
a man. He mixes a toddy or a punch just as well as I can."
"But," I suggested, "are you not a little afraid of placing one so young
in the way of temptation?"
"Temptation!" The open brows of Simon Slade contracted a little. "No,
sir!" he replied, emphatically. "The till is safer under his care than it
would be in that of one man in ten. The boy comes, sir, of honest
parents. Simon Slade never wronged anybody out of a farthing."
"Oh," said I, quickly, "you altogether misapprehend me. I had no
reference to the till, but to the bottle."
The landlord's brows were instantly unbent, and a broad smile circled

over his good-humored face.
"Is that all? Nothing to fear, I can assure you. Frank has no taste for
liquor, and might pour it out for mouths without a drop finding its way
to his lips. Nothing to apprehend there, sir-- nothing."
I saw that further suggestions of danger would be useless, and so
remained silent. The arrival of a traveler called away the landlord, and I
was left alone for observation and reflection. The bar adjoined the neat
sitting-room, and I could see, through the open door, the customer upon
whom the lad was attending. He was a well-dressed young man--or
rather boy, for he did not appear to be over nineteen years of age--with
a fine, intelligent face, that was already slightly marred by sensual
indulgence. He raised the glass to his lips, with a quick, almost eager
motion, and drained it at a single draught.
"Just right," said he, tossing a sixpence to the young bar-tender. "You
are first rate at a brandy-toddy. Never drank a better in my life."
The lad's smiling face told that he was gratified by the compliment. To
me the sight was painful, for I saw that this youthful tippler was on
dangerous ground.
"Who is that young man in the bar?" I asked, a few minutes afterward,
on being rejoined by the landlord.
Simon Slade stepped to the door and looked into the bar for a moment.
Two or three men were there by this time; but he was at no loss in
answering my question.
"Oh, that's a son of Judge Hammond, who lives in the large brick house
as you enter the village. Willy Hammond, as everybody familiarly calls
him, is about the finest young man in our neighborhood. There is
nothing proud or put-on about him--nothing --even if his father is a
judge, and rich into the bargain. Every one, gentle or simple, likes
Willy Hammond. And then he is such good company. Always so
cheerful, and always with a pleasant story on his tongue. And he's so

high-spirited withal, and so honorable. Willy Hammond would lose his
right hand rather than be guilty of a mean action."
"Landlord!" The voice came loud from the road in front of the house,
and Simon Slade again left me to answer the demands of some
new-comer. I went into the bar-room, in order to take a closer
observation of Willy Hammond, in whom an interest, not unmingled
with concern, had already been awakened in my mind. I found him
engaged in a pleasant conversation with a plain-looking farmer, whose
homely, terse, common sense was quite as conspicuous as his fine play
of words and lively fancy. The farmer was a substantial conservative,
and young Hammond a warm admirer of new ideas and the quicker
adaptation of means to ends. I soon saw that his mental powers were
developed beyond his years, while his personal qualities were strongly
attractive. I understood better, after being a silent listener and observer
for ten minutes, why the landlord had spoken of him so warmly.
"Take a brandy-toddy, Mr. H--?" said Hammond, after the discussion
closed, good humoredly. "Frank, our junior bar-keeper here, beats his
father, in that line."
"I don't care if I do," returned the farmer; and the two passed up to the
bar.
"Now, Frank, my boy, don't belie my praises," said the young man; "do
your handsomest."
"Two brandy-toddies, did you say?" Frank made inquiry with quite a
professional air.
"Just what I did say; and let them be equal to Jove's nectar."
Pleased at this familiarity, the boy went briskly to his work of mixing
the tempting compound, while Hammond looked on with an approving
smile.
"There," said the latter,