Ten Nights in a Bar Room | Page 4

houses have been commenced."
"Other causes, besides the simple opening of a new tavern, may have
contributed to this result," said I.
"None of which I am aware. I was talking with Judge Hammond only
yesterday--he owns a great deal of ground on the street--and he did not
hesitate to say, that the building and opening of a good tavern here had
increased the value of his property at least five thousand dollars. He
said, moreover, that he thought the people of Cedarville ought to
present me with a silver pitcher; and that, for one, he would contribute
ten dollars for that purpose."
The ringing of the supper bell interrupted further conversation; and
with the best of appetites, I took my way to the room, where a plentiful
meal was spread. As I entered, I met the wife of Simon Slade, just
passing out, after seeing that every thing was in order. I had not
observed her before; and now could not help remarking that she had a
flushed, excited countenance, as if she had been over a hot fire, and
was both worried and fatigued. And there was, moreover, a peculiar
expression of the mouth, never observed in one whose mind is entirely

at ease--an expression that once seen is never forgotten. The face
stamped itself instantly on my memory; and I can even now recall it
with almost the original distinctness. How strongly it contrasted with
that of her smiling, self-satisfied husband, who took his place at the
head of his table with an air of conscious importance. I was too hungry
to talk much, and so found greater enjoyment in eating than in
conversation. The landlord had a more chatty guest by his side, and I
left them to entertain each other, while I did ample justice to the
excellent food with which the table was liberally provided.
After supper I went to the sitting-room, and remained there until the
lamps were lighted. A newspaper occupied my time for perhaps half an
hour; then the buzz of voices from the adjoining bar-room, which had
been increasing for some time, attracted my attention, and I went in
there to see and hear what was passing. The first person upon whom
my eyes rested was young Hammond, who sat talking with a man older
than himself by several years. At a glance, I saw that this man could
only associate himself with Willy Hammond as a tempter.
Unscrupulous selfishness was written all over his sinister countenance;
and I wondered that it did not strike every one, as it did me, with
instant repulsion. There could not be, I felt certain, any common
ground of association, for two such persons, but the dead level of a
village bar-room. I afterward learned, during the evening, that this
man's name was Harvey Green, and that he was an occasional visitor at
Cedarville, remaining a few days, or a few weeks at a time, as appeared
to suit his fancy, and having no ostensible business or special
acquaintance with anybody in the village.
"There is one thing about him," remarked Simon Slade, in answering
some question that I put in reference to the man, "that I don't object to;
he has plenty of money, and is not at all niggardly in spending it. He
used to come here, so he told me, about once in five or six months; but
his stay at the miserably kept tavern, the only one then in Cedarville,
was so uncomfortable, that he had pretty well made up his mind never
to visit us again. Now, however, he has engaged one of my best rooms,
for which he pays me by the year, and I am to charge him full board for
the time he occupies it. He says that there is something about

Cedarville that always attracts him; and that his health is better while
here than it is anywhere except South during the winter season. He'll
never leave less than two or three hundred dollars a year in our
village--there is one item, for you, of advantage to a place in having a
good tavern."
"What is his business?" I asked. "Is he engaged in any trading
operations?"
The landlord shrugged his shoulders, and looked slightly mysterious, as
he answered:
"I never inquire about the business of a guest. My calling is to entertain
strangers. If they are pleased with my house, and pay my bills on
presentation, I have no right to seek further. As a miller, I never asked a
customer, whether he raised, bought, or stole his wheat. It was my
business to grind it, and I took care to do it well. Beyond that, it was all
his own affair. And so it will be in my new calling. I shall mind my
own