Sheriff. You are too late, gentlemen; all the property is attached for twice its value. Rum, bad bargains, and negligence, have done the business with poor B. But I pity his wife and children most, for they have struggled hard to prevent it.
Distiller. Is every thing gone? The fellow owed me two hundred dollars.
Myself. For whiskey, I suppose.
Distiller. He was formerly a partner in my still, you recollect.
Yonder comes from the store the mechanic, neighbor D. Well, neighbor D, how do the times go with you now?
D. Was there ever such a scarcity of money? When the rich are failing all around, how can a poor mechanic stand it?
Myself. What have you, friend D, bound up so carefully in your handkerchief?
D. Aye, you belong to the cold water society, I believe. But I do know that a little now and then does me good.
Myself. I should suppose that, shut up as you are in your shop most of the time, you could not be much exposed to heat or cold, or great fatigue, and therefore would hardly need spirits.
D. Well, but I have a weak and cold stomach, and often feel so faint and sick that I must either take an emetic or a glass of spirits. But the latter cures all my bad feelings.