"Go along for a saucy girl," said the sheriff, laughing; "wash your eyes, and then come to breakfast; for we have a great critic of female beauty here, and you may miss a chance, you know, if you don't look your best."
"I'm not in the market," answered Bessy, running into the house.
"And who is your guest, Mr. Sheriff?" I inquired. "You say he is a friend of mine, which saves my question from impertinence."
"Oh, we have no secrets in Virginia," answered the sheriff. "This is Mr. Wheatley, of Norfolk. He says, as we have been cutting each other's throats here, he has just come up to see all his dead friends; for, as I dare say you have found out, Wheatley must have his jest, even on the most serious subject. But here he comes." While the sheriff had been speaking, his sister had retired to the breakfast-room, and Mr. Wheatley joined us, as brisk, as gay, and as composed as ever.
"Ah, Sir Richard," he said, "how are you? You have had some shooting affairs lately on a grander scale than when I last saw you. But I dare say this is nothing to India, where you make a battle of Rajpoots for your afternoon's amusement, and shoot a score or two of rajahs before breakfast; to say nothing of a sultan or two as a big head of game." I laughed, saying, that of course such sport as we had lately had was rather flat after the amusements he mentioned. Then, turning to the sheriff, I remarked,--
"What a beautifully organized country this is, Mr. Sheriff, where, on going and demanding the assistance of a public officer, instead of a long bill of costs, we get a good breakfast, a hearty welcome, a towel, and some cold water."
"Oh, the bill will come by-and-by," said the sheriff.
"By way of desert?" asked Mr. Wheatley. "Well, if it does, we must try to swallow and digest it."
"But, if there be no secret, what is it all about, Mr. Wheatley?" asked the sheriff.
"Oh, no secret at all," replied my Norfolk friend. "One of those matters of business which occur every day--a gentleman, who owes to me and my Boston partners certain banks of ducats, as that funny old fellow, Shakspeare, would call them, which he neglected to pay; he promised them the day before yesterday morning, on the nail, in the city of Portsmouth, at the hour of the arrival of the stage; but neither he nor the dollars ever appeared. I had warned him that this was the last time--it was about the fiftieth--that he should break his promise, and I pointed out to him that though habits of intimacy and some kindness shown to me, a long time ago, when he was a man of about forty, and I a youth of twenty-two or twenty-three, had induced me to forbear, notwithstanding the after-conduct which had severed our friendship; yet, as there were other persons concerned, who had befriended him, at my request, I was now bound to see them paid."