It was not easy to placate the little Irishman, but the two strangers finally accomplished it, and the entire party went over to the barroom. Peter, however, refused to enter the place, and showed his teeth viciously when the sportive pistol-player, whose name was Carruthers, offered to pat his head by way of apology.
As the day wore on, the male population of Brownsville, one by one, appeared in the barroom, and Carruthers and his mate, Hopper, played the part of hosts with great assiduity, so that the general condition of hilarity that had prevailed on Saturday night, but which had been greatly modified in the early morning hours, was fully reëstablished before nightfall.
The two men told about themselves without reserve, and there seemed to be no reason to doubt their story. They were sports, they said, frankly, it being fully understood that the word sport was a mere euphemism for professional gambler, and, having “made a killing” in La Crosse a few days before, they were enjoying a trip down the river with the ultimate purpose of getting into a big game at Vicksburg or New Orleans. Things being too slow to suit them on the boat on which they started, they had stopped off at the first landing-place to wait for another. Being thus in Brownsville, they proposed to enjoy themselves as heartily as possible, so what was the matter with all hands having another drink?
Whatever latent prejudice there was in the minds of Stumpy and one or two others who recognized an element of peril in the situation, was of little force against the popular enthusiasm the two strangers evoked by their liberality. Being men of seemingly unlimited capacity themselves, they soon discovered that Brownsville had also a few mighty drinkers, and, while now and again some less gifted man dropped out of the bout and made his uncertain way to some hiding-place, there were others on whom even Sam’s brands of red liquors had no appreciable effect.
Long Mike, indeed, seemed in his element. Glass for glass with anybody and everybody he tossed off his tipple as if it were filtered water, and his eye grew brighter, his hand steadier, and his tongue more nimble with each potation, so that only those who knew the awful cumulative effect drink had on him when his limit was actually reached, could realize that the commercial standing of Brownsville was at stake, for without Long Mike there was no head to the community, and no prospect of carrying on any business of importance. Therefore Stumpy—and others—had misgivings.
Not all the boats that ply the Mississippi stop at Brownsville, and the intervals at which some do stop are uncertain, so that Carruthers and Hopper had no means of calculating the length of their stay. It did not appear to trouble them much, but toward evening, no boat having appeared, and none being expected that night, Carruthers remarked, casually, that he could wish for a little excitement.
“Your liquor is all right,” he said, “and your society here is pleasant enough to suit anybody, but don’t you ever do anything in Brownsville?”
“We had a cock-fight here last month,” said Hennessy, “but there’s only one cock in town now. That was Gallagher’s afore Gallagher lit out, but even if he was to come home there’s no way o’ fightin’ one cock. That is, there’s no way I know on, ’thouten you put him front of a lookin’-glass,” he added, with a foolish laugh that no one echoed.
“Don’t nobody ever play poker here?” asked Hopper.
“I knowed it,” said Stumpy, under his breath, to Sam, who nodded understandingly.