Ten Nights in a Bar Room | Page 3

as Frank passed the glasses across the counter,
"if you don't call that first-rate, you're no judge." And he handed one of

them to the farmer, who tasted the agreeable draught, and praised its
flavor. As before, I noticed that Hammond drank eagerly, like one
athirst--emptying his glass without once taking it from his lips.
Soon after the bar-room was empty; and then I walked around the
premises, in company with the landlord, and listened to his praise of
everything and his plans and purposes for the future. The house, yard,
garden, and out-buildings were in the most perfect order; presenting, in
the whole, a model of a village tavern.
"Whatever I do, sir," said the talkative Simon Slade, "I like to do well. I
wasn't just raised to tavern-keeping, you must know; but I am one who
can turn his hand to almost any thing."
"What was your business?" I inquired.
"I'm a miller, sir, by trade," he answered--"and a better miller, though I
say it myself, is not to be found in Bolton county. I've followed milling
these twenty years, and made some little money. But I got tired of hard
work, and determined to lead an easier life. So I sold my mill, and built
this house with the money. I always thought I'd like tavern-keeping. It's
an easy life; and, if rightly seen after, one in which a man is sure to
make money."
"You were still doing a fair business with your mill?"
"Oh, yes. Whatever I do, I do right. Last year, I put by a thousand
dollars above all expenses, which is not bad, I can assure you, for a
mere grist mill. If the present owner comes out even, he'll do well!"
"How is that?"
"Oh, he's no miller. Give him the best wheat that is grown, and he'll
ruin it in grinding. He takes the life out of every grain. I don't believe
he'll keep half the custom that I transferred with the mill."
"A thousand dollars, clear profit, in so useful a business, ought to have
satisfied you," said I.

"There you and I differ," answered the landlord. "Every man desires to
make as much money as possible, and with the least labor. I hope to
make two or three thousand dollars a year, over and above all expenses,
at tavern-keeping. My bar alone ought to yield me that sum. A man
with a wife and children very naturally tries to do as well by them as
possible."
"Very true; but," I ventured to suggest, "will this be doing as well by
them as if you had kept on at the mill?"
"Two or three thousand dollars a year against one thousand! Where are
your figures, man?"
"There may be something beyond money to take into the account," said
I.
"What?" inquired Slade, with a kind of half credulity.
"Consider the different influences of the two callings in life-- that of a
miller and a tavern-keeper."
"Well, say on."
"Will your children be as safe from temptation here as in their former
home?"
"Just as safe," was the unhesitating answer. "Why not?"
I was about to speak of the alluring glass in the case of Frank, but
remembering that I had already expressed a fear in that direction, felt
that to do so again would be useless, and so kept silent.
"A tavern-keeper," said Slade, "is just as respectable as a miller--in fact,
the very people who used to call me 'Simon' or 'Neighbor Dustycoat,'
now say 'Landlord,' or 'Mr. Slade,' and treat me in every way more as if
I were an equal than ever they did before."
"The change," said I, "may be due to the fact of your giving evidence of
possessing some means. Men are very apt to be courteous to those who

have property. The building of the tavern has, without doubt,
contributed to the new estimation in which you are held."
"That isn't all," replied the landlord. "It is because I am keeping a good
tavern, and thus materially advancing the interests of Cedarville, that
some of our best people look at me with different eyes."
"Advancing the interests of Cedarville! In what way?" I did not
apprehend his meaning.
"A good tavern always draws people to a place, while a miserable old
tumble-down of an affair, badly kept, such as we have had for years, as
surely repels them. You can generally tell something about the
condition of a town by looking at its taverns. If they are well kept, and
doing a good business, you will hardly be wrong in the conclusion that
the place is thriving. Why, already, since I built and opened the 'Sickle
and Sheaf,' property has advanced over twenty per cent along the whole
street, and not less than five new