“She probably marries him for his literary reputation. Boston women are sometimes in love with that!” said John. “But let us now toss up for the reckoning.”
“It’s all paid,” observed the waiter, pointing to the Southerner.
“Just like him; always throwing away his money!” muttered John, pocketing his piece. Jim made a bow, and swore he would be revenged: but all finally agreed to go home, visibly contented.
Scarcely had they left, before a large party of about fifteen or twenty young men, among whom there appeared to be some Europeans, entered the room, swearing that they had been done out of a regular meal, and that they were now going to make up for it. “Let us have three or four canvass-back ducks, and some of Lynch’s claret,” cried one of them; “the devil take the stuff they call toddy! I had as lief swallow prussic acid,—it has given me the cramp in my stomach.”
“If you had drunk it here,” grinned the waiter, “you would feel all the better for it; we make that article first-rate.”
“Hold your tongue!” cried the gentleman, “and do as you are bid.”
“All right, sir!” said the negro, and went to speak to the cook.
“Can we go into the other room?” demanded one of the party.
“Gentlemen are dining there,” replied the bar-keeper.
“Gambling you mean, don’t you?”