"Poor Mrs. Belcher!" exclaims Mrs. Dillingham, as the reflection comes to her that that amiable lady was once the mistress of the beautiful establishment over which she has been called upon to preside.
"They say she is living nicely," says Mr. Snow, "and that somebody sends her money, though she does not know where it comes from. It is supposed that her husband saved something, and keeps himself out of sight, while he looks after his family."
Mr. Benedict and Mrs. Dillingham exchange significant glances. Jim is a witness of the act, and knows what it means. He leans over to Mr. Benedict, and says: "When I seen sheet-lightnin', I know there's a shower where it comes from. Ye can't fool me about ma'am Belcher's money."
"You will not tell anybody, Jim," says Mr. Benedict, in a low tone.
"Nobody but the little woman," responds Jim; and then, seeing that his "little feller," in the distance, is draining a cup with more than becoming leisure, he shouts down the table: "Paul B! Paul B! Ye can't git that mug on to yer head with the brim in yer mouth. It isn't yer size, an' it doesn't look purty on ye."
"I should like to know where the old rascal is," says Mrs. Snow, going back to the suggestion that Mr. Belcher was supplying his family with money.
"Well, I can tell ye," replies Jim. "I've been a keepin' it in for this very meetin'."
"Oh Jim!" exclaim half a dozen voices, which means: "we are dying to hear all about it."
"Well," says Jim, "there was a feller as come to my hotel a month ago, and says he: 'Jim, did ye ever know what had become of old Belcher?' 'No,' says I, 'I only knowed he cut a big stick, an' slid.' 'Well,' says he, 'I seen 'im a month ago, with whiskers enough on 'is ugly face to set up a barberry-bush.' Says I, 'Where did ye seen 'im?' 'Where do ye guess', says he?' 'Swoppin' a blind hoss', says I, 'fur a decent one, an' gettin' boot.' 'No,' says he, 'guess agin.' 'Preachin' at a camp-meetin',' says I, 'an' passin' round a hat arter it.' 'No,' says he, 'I seen 'im jest where he belonged. He was tendin' a little bar, on a S'n' Lor'nce steamboat. He was settin' on a big stool in the middle of 'is bottles, where he could reach 'em all without droppin' from his roost, an' when his customers was out he was a peekin' into a little lookin'-glass, as stood aside of 'im, an' a combin' out his baird.' 'That settles it,' says I, 'you've seen 'im, an no mistake.' 'Then,' says he, 'I called 'im 'General,' an' he looked kind a skeered, an' says 'e to me, 'Mum's the word! Crooked Valley an' Air Line is played out, an' I'm workin' up a corner in Salt River,'—laughin', an' offerin' to treat.'
"I wonder how he came in such a place as that," says Mrs. Snow.