Toward the landing Godfrey hastened after parting from his son, and entering the street which ran from the river back into the country, found himself in front of the grocery, and in the midst of a group of men who were congregated there. They all carried rifles in their hands, and the sharp, whip-like reports which now and then came from a little grove situated a few rods up the river bank, told that the shooting match was in progress.
Godfrey entered the store and drawing up before the counter, rapped on it with his knuckles to attract the attention of the proprietor, who was busy in the little room that opened off the rear. The rap quickly brought him out, but when he saw who his customer was, he stopped and asked:—
“I’ll take a plug of that amazin’ fine ole Virginy of your’n, if ye please, sir,” said Godfrey, leaning his rifle against the counter and thrusting his hand into his pocket.
The grocery keeper whistled softly to himself, but made no move to produce the required article. He wanted first to see what would be the result of his customer’s investigations. Godfrey continued to search his pockets—every one of them had a hole in it that he could have run his hand through—and his movements grew quicker, as his impatience to find something in them increased, and then slower, as the fact appeared to dawn upon him that there was nothing there.
“You don’t seem to pull out anything, Godfrey,” said the merchant.
“No, it’s a fact, I don’t seem to,” replied the customer. “I’ve left my pocket-book to hum, arter all. Say, Silas,” he added, sinking his voice almost to a whisper, and glancing hastily toward the crowd of men at the door, “ye wouldn’t mind trustin’ me till next week, I reckon, would ye?”
“Yes, I would,” was the blunt reply.
“Only till next week, I say,” repeated Godfrey. “I’ll have more money then nor a mule can haul away, an’ I’ll pay ye every red cent I owe ye!”
“Well, then I’ll sell you everything you want,” said the merchant.