The holy man raised his hands, despite the incumbrances of half a biscuit and a coffee cup, and exclaimed,
“Bless the Lord for the first fruits of the seed so newly sown. Who would have thought so undemonstrative a man would have been the first to heed the word of exhortation?”
“He’s the first to see money in it—that’s why,” explained Crupp.
“My dear sir, do you really ascribe Deacon Jones’s meritorious action to sordid motives?” asked the old pastor, opening his mouth and eyes as if the answer for which he waited was to come through them.
“Hum—well, no—I reckon ’twas a little mixed,” replied Mr. Crupp, meditatively analyzing a blossom of a honeysuckle growing by the pastor’s window. “I dinged at him, you preached at him, he thought it over, and whatever Jonathan Jones thinks over long is pretty sure to have money in it somewhere in the end. He’ll make mor’n he’ll lose on Tom, an’ it’s best he should—he’ll have a better heart to try another experiment of the same sort one of these days. But I didn’t mean to interrupt your breakfast—beg your pardon, Mrs. Wedgewell and young ladies, for not ringing the bell, but I was too full of the news to behave myself. Good by.”
And Mr. Crupp started for his own breakfast-table, while the Reverend Jonas’s eyes seemed directed at some object just out of sight, as he abstractedly raised his coffee cup to his lips.
CHAPTER V.
AN ASTONISHED VIRGINIAN.
Why old Bunley had made Barton his place of residence nobody knew. The most plausible theory ever advanced on the subject came from the former proprietor of the Barton House, who said that Bunley, happening to be traveling that way, had found the brandy at the Barton House so good that he hadn’t the heart to leave it. The brandy lasted so long that old Bunley—then twenty years younger—while consuming it became acquainted with nearly everybody in the town; and as he had no engagements that restrained him from making himself agreeable, he found himself well liked, and entreated to make his home at Barton. He reported—and his report was afterward verified—that he was the son of a Virginia planter, and was unpopular at home because he had made a runaway match with a splendid girl, whose only fault was that her family did not rank very high. Bunley’s father had cut his son off with a thousand dollars, but had considerately sent the money with the letter of dismissal; so the happy couple were leisurely spending the money and waiting for the old gentleman to relent, as irate fathers always do in books. But while Bunley was enjoying the hospitalities of Barton, annoyed only by the fact that his purse was growing light, he heard of his father’s sudden death and of the inheritance by an unloving brother of the entire estate. Then the young bridegroom attempted to obtain money by borrowing, for this was the only method of money-getting he understood; but the small success which attended his efforts did not pay for the annoyance which his soulless creditors gave him. Then he tried gambling, and, by devoting his mind to it, succeeded so well that no one but an occasional commercial traveler, to whom Bunley’s ways were unknown, would play with him. Then, under the guise of being clerk of the Barton House, he became its actual barkeeper, and attracted so much custom away from the other liquor-sellers that the grateful proprietor took him into partnership, and, dying a year later, bequeathed the whole business to him. But the good brandy which had first persuaded Bunley to stop at Barton continued its fascinations, and the new proprietor of the Barton House, while liked by all travelers, grew so unpopular with purveyors of flour, meat, and other hotel necessities that the sheriff was finally called upon to settle the differences between them by disposing of the hotel property at auction.