Ten Nights in a Bar Room | Page 6

miller--no one ever disputed that --and it's plain to
see that he is going to make a good landlord. I thought his heart was a
little too soft; but the indurating process has begun, and, in less than ten
years, if it isn't as hard as one of his old mill-stones, Joe Morgan is no
prophet. Oh, you needn't knit your brows so, friend Simon, we're old
friends; and friends are privileged to speak plain."
"I wish you'd go home. You're not yourself tonight," said the landlord,
a little coaxingly, for he saw that nothing was to be gained by
quarreling with Morgan. "Maybe my heart is growing harder," he
added, with affected good-humor; "and it is time, perhaps. One of my
weaknesses, I have heard even you say, was being too woman-hearted."
"No danger of that now," retorted Joe Morgan. "I've known a good
many landlords in my time, but can't remember one that was troubled
with the disease that once afflicted you."

Just at this moment the outer door was pushed open with a slow,
hesitating motion; then a little pale face peered in, and a pair of soft
blue eyes went searching about the room. Conversation was instantly
hushed, and every face, excited with interest, turned toward the child,
who had now stepped through the door. She was not over ten years of
age; but it moved the heart to look upon the saddened expression of her
young countenance, and the forced bravery therein, that scarcely
overcame the native timidity so touchingly visible.
"Father!" I have never heard this word spoken in a voice that sent such
a thrill along every nerve. It was full of sorrowful love-- full of a tender
concern that had its origin too deep for the heart of a child. As she
spoke, the little one sprang across the room, and laying her hands upon
the arm of Joe Morgan, lifted her eyes, that were ready to gush over
with tears, to his face.
"Come father! won't you come home?" I hear that low, pleading voice
even now, and my heart gives a quicker throb. Poor child! Darkly
shadowed was the sky that bent gloomily over thy young life.
Morgan arose, and suffered the child to lead him from the room. He
seemed passive in her hands. I noticed that he thrust his fingers
nervously into his pocket, and that a troubled look went over his face as
they were withdrawn. His last sixpence was in the till of Simon Slade!
The first man who spoke was Harvey Green, and this not for a minute
after the father and his child had vanished through the door.
"If I was in your place, landlord"--his voice was cold and
unfeeling--"I'd pitch that fellow out of the bar-room the next time he
stepped through the door. He's no business here, in the first place; and,
in the second, he doesn't know how to behave himself. There's no
telling how much a vagabond like him injures a respectable house."
"I wish he would stay away," said Simon, with a perplexed air.
"I'd make him stay away," answered Green.

"That may be easier said than done," remarked Judge Lyman. "Our
friend keeps a public-house, and can't just say who shall or shall not
come into it."
"But such a fellow has no business here. He's a good-for-nothing sot. If
I kept a tavern, I'd refuse to sell him liquor."
"That you might do," said Judge Lyman; "and I presume your hint will
not be lost on our friend Slade."
"He will have liquor, so long as he can get a cent to buy it with,"
remarked one of the company; "and I don't see why our landlord here,
who has gone to so much expense to fit up a tavern, shouldn't have the
sale of it as well as anybody else. Joe talks a little freely sometimes; but
no one can say that he is quarrelsome. You've got to take him as he is,
that's all."
"I am one," retorted Harvey Green, with a slightly ruffled manner,
"who is never disposed to take people as they are when they choose to
render themselves disagreeable. If I was Mr. Slade, as I remarked in the
beginning, I'd pitch that fellow into the road the next time he put his
foot over my door step."
"Not if I were present," remarked the other, coolly.
Green was on his feet in a moment, and I saw, from the flash of his
eyes, that he was a man of evil passions. Moving a pace or two in the
direction of the other, he said sharply.
"What is that, sir?"
The individual against whom his anger was so suddenly aroused was
dressed plainly, and had the appearance of a working man. He was
stout