“The devil knows,” said that gentleman. “I found her here when I came and as all the first ladies were jealous and angry, and all the best fellows in love with her, I went in without questioning her previous history.”
“Sed. was euchred badly,” put in a bloated young man, with protruding bleared eyes and very red nose; “held a good hand, too, but played his cards badly and lost. They say he went a five hundred diamond ring, but she sent it back.”
“That was hard on him; but, Monte!” said Finnock, “Smith and I want an introduction, cannot you present us?”
“Certainly,” said Monte, getting up from his chair, and shaking one leg at a time, to make his pants smooth, “but it’s useless, that black eyed fellow with her has it all his own way. She will waltz with no one else, pretends to be squeamish, but it is all because he will not let her. The devil take these old marching Lancers and trotting quadrilles; give me a soft hand and a trim waist, and my toe is at your service. Let’s have something to drink!”
All assented, and I followed them into the bar-room. I did not wish to drink, but my moral courage shrank from refusing before a throng of exquisites, who were just admitting me to their fellowship. Accordingly, when the others had called for juleps, cold punches and “straights,” I responded to Monte’s inquiry, by stating very faintly that I would take a sherry cobbler, believing that was the weakest drink I could name. Monte repeated the orders to Snyder, the bar man, with the injunction to make them strong, and we all stood around trying to keep up a desultory conversation, but watching, with more interest, the preparation of the beverages, as men always do at a bar.
Snyder, a large fat man, in his shirt sleeves, with a large diamond pin on his large bosom, and a heavy moustache on his heavy lip, who had been looking off vacantly while we delivered our orders, now started as if he suddenly remembered them, and calling an assistant, took down the bottles, put in the white hailed ice and sugar, the sprigs of mint, the slices of lemon, and set the dewy glasses on the counter. With a bow and a health we drank, and then Finnock swore we should have another round. This time I had weakened enough in my resolution to try a julep, and feeling a tinge of the old excitement coming over me, I asked, as we turned to leave the bar, the privilege of treating.
“Have you some good champagne—green seal or Verzenay—the best now?” I asked the barkeeper, assuming something of the bully in my tone.
“Not champagne at the bar!” said Monte, “that is sacred to the table.”
The barkeeper pointed us to a curtained apartment, and sent in the champagne and some biscuit.