"Look a here, you sir, I ain't no gambler—none of your foreign chaps, that git their living by playing cards. You must be soft in the upper story if you don't see that the first giffy. You don't see no hair on my upper lip. I don't carry a cane with a bagonet in it, nor wear checkered trousers, so you needn't ask me to give you any cards, I haint touched one of the pesky things since marm broke the tin dipper over my head for singing out, 'high, low, Jack and the game, by gauley,' one day when I and another little shaver got hid away in the corn-house a playing all fours."
The feller opened his eyes a few when I said this, but three or four finefied young fellers, with white gloves on, and little canes in their hand, come to the door, and stood a grinning at me like so many hungry monkeys. Cousin John spoke sort of low, and sez he,—
"It is your name the man wants. If you haven't any cards, write it out on a piece of paper."
With that the man handed over a piece of paper, and cousin Beebe give me his gold pencil.
Think sez I, "If they will have my name, I'll give 'em a smasher,"—so I flourished the "J" off with an allfired long tail, and curlecued the "S" up till it looked like a black snake in the sun. I ruther seem to think the feller stared a few when he saw the name. The grinning chaps cum and looked at it, but made themselves scarce in less than no time arter they had made it out, and the tall chap, he bowed close down to the floor, and sez he—
"Walk in, Mr. Slick, Mr. Simpson put your name on the free list ever so long ago."
I was going to ask him to tell Mr. Simpson that I was very much obligated, though I hadn't the least idea what he meant by his free list, but that minit there was such a smashing of fiddles and drums and toot-horns inside that I eenamost jumped out of my skin. It seemed as if a dozen training bands had all been set a going tu once.
Cousin John he took hold of my arm, and hauled me along through a little door into a great big room built off more like a meeting-house than anything else—and yet it wasn't like that neither. It was shaped kinder like a horse shoe, the floor was chuck full of benches, kivered over with red cushions, and there was four galleries all pillared off and painted, and set off with gold and great blazing glass things that made every thing look as bright as day. In the second gallery there were five or six pens all boarded off from the rest, with lots of gold picters all round them, and hung over with silk curtains, till they looked more like the berths on board a steamboat than any thing I could think on. These places were chuck full of allfired harnsome gals and spruce looking fellers, that were dressed off to kill, and talked and laughed as chipper as could be. The ruff was an etarnal way up from the floor; it rounded up, and was crinkle-crankled off with gold and picters till it looked like the West jest afore sundown, when the red and yaller and purple lie in heaps and ridges all over the sky.
Think sez I, if that's what par means by a device of the devil, Old Nick is no slouch at putting the shine on the ruff of his house, anyhow.
We sot down on one of the red benches in the lowest gallery, and I got a leetle over the twitter that I was in at fust, and jest made up my mind to look amongst the folks to see what was going on.