This tournament of orators was interrupted by Smead, who was suddenly and almost simultaneously embraced by every member of the group, while the barkeeper was preparing to minister to his needs.
“Again I am in the grasp of the octopus of intemperance,” I heard Smead say, whereat the others roared with laughter.
Soon he disengaged himself, and I saw him speaking to the bartender. In a moment he came out, and we left the place together.
“Colonel Buckstone is taking the nine-thirty train to St. Johnstown,” he whispered. “We must hurry and get aboard. There is yet time.”
We ran to the depot and caught the train. Colonel Buckstone sat near the center of the smoking-car with Thurst Giles, a town drunkard, of Griggsby. Fortunately, we got a seat just behind them. I remember that, of the two, Thurst was much the soberer. Shabby and unshaven, he was an odd sort of extravagance for the imposing Colonel to be indulging in. The latter was arrayed in broadcloth and fine linen, and crowned with a beaver hat.
“Giles, I like you,” said Buckstone, in a thick, maudlin voice; “but, sir, I feel constrained to remind you that in the matter of dress and conduct you are damnably careless. You, sir, are in the unfortunate position of a man climbing to a great height. You are all right as long as you do not look down.”
Giles laughed, as did others near them.
“But be of good cheer,” the Colonel went on, as he passed him a roll of greenbacks. “I appoint you Chancellor of the Exchequer, and shall at once look after the improvement of your person. All I demand of you is that you pay the bills and keep sober, sir. Do not worry about me, but rest assured that I can drink enough for both of us, and that your occupation as paymaster will be sufficient.”
A fanner with a long beard was passing down the aisle of the car.
“My friend, your beard annoys me,” said the Colonel. “Are you much attached to it?”