'The younker, I guess, will go ahead of the old man,' said Grizzle, as he dropped the money Sam had given him through a little hole in the counter.
An old man, with his thin white locks dangling on his shoulders, placed his half-emptied tumbler on the bench beside him, and turning his head very emphatically on one side, said, 'Oakum is naturally a smart man, and he has got a clever wife, but somehow he don't get along much—no better than the rest of us.'
'And what is the reason, Uncle John,' said another, addressing the last speaker, 'that we are all so poor?'
'Why, I s'pose it's to be so—it's our luck, as I take it.'
'Our luck?' said the young man, who stood by the door with his hands in his pockets, looking at the receding form of Sam Oakum, whose light steps were carrying him far on his way—he laid a strong emphasis on the word luck.
'Yes, as I take it, it's our luck; a man may work ever so hard, but if luck is agin him, it's no use.'
'Yes, it is use,' said the same young man; 'that is, if a man would let rum alone—that makes the bad luck; I wish there had never been a drop made.'
'What's that you say, Bill? I guess your bitters is gone down the wrong way this morning.' And old Grizzle laughed heartily, and so did his customers. Bill, as he was called, laughed a little too, but not as the rest did.
'S'pose you mix Bill another glass, Mr. Grizzle, and see how that will go?' And they all laughed again; and to carry the joke through, Grizzle did prepare another glass, and placing it on the counter,
'There, try that, Bill; but may be you darsen't, you seem to be so afraid all at once.'