An animated conversation ensued, which ended by Tom being asked to dine, and when the gong proclaimed the table spread, in walked the stranger and Tom, arm-in-arm, large as life and twice as natural. He called the waiters with an air of ease, passed the stranger's wine with friendly freedom, laughed musically, jested with spirit, wiped his mouth with grace, and, in short, completely captivated the southerner. During the period of Tom's luxuriating, he was observed by the landlord, who, indignant, sent a servant to order him from the table. Tom had “come it” over him for so many odd dinners, without a shadow of prospect for pay, that he would stand it no longer. The servant approached, whispered in his ear, and stood off to give him room to move. Tom clutched the wine bottle, with the intention of hurling it at his head, but altered his purpose, and poured out another glass, drank it off, looked daggers at the servant, and in a moment more smiled confidence upon his friend.
“Would you believe it,” said Tom, to the southerner, “that since my absence from the city for a few days past, a rival house of our shipping firm has whispered the possibility of our failure, and this rascally landlord, having heard the calumny, has insulted me here at table by sending a servant to demand the trifling sum I owe him.”
The southerner was burning with indignation.
“It is too humiliating;” added Tom, “not dreaming of such an outrage, I am entirely unprovided at the moment.”
“Here, my dear fellow,” promptly proffered his friend, “here is my pocket-book, make use of it without hesitation.”
“You're very kind,” said Tom, “very, I will but borrow this thousand dollar bill for a moment—I know the rascal can't change it!”
With an air of offended dignity, Tom approached the office of the hotel, the landlord, frowning with anger, stood at the desk, the offended “diner out,” put his hand to his eyes, as if hiding deep emotion, and then addressing the landlord in a grief-stricken voice, he said:
“I never dreamed of such an insult from you, sir, at such a time, too, just as my uncle in the south has expired,—and his agent with me to deliver up the portion bequeathed to me—it is—it—sir, I cannot express in language my feelings. Take out of that the paltry sum I owe you,”—throwing down the thousand dollar bill,—“and henceforth I never will enter your door. Just at a time too,” he further added, “when I had intended to make your house my home, and endeavor to make some return for your forbearance. It is too much—my feelings are lacerated,” and here he became almost overpowered by emotion.
The strip of crape around his hat—put there to hide the greasy band—the thousand dollar bill, and the renovated coat, which looked like new on the possessor of such a sum, all assured the landlord that he had been hasty. He, therefore, denied the indignity, straight, said that it was an impertinence of his servant, who had twice before offended his best guests by his insolence, and assured Tom that he would discharge the fellow forthwith—pushed back to him the thousand dollar bill, and begged he would forget the circumstance—indeed, he felt shocked that such an outrage had been perpetrated upon his oldest friend and customer. These warm expressions mollified Tom's wrath, and folding up his bill he walked back, resumed his seat, returned the bill to the southerner, merely remarking he had “brought the landlord to his feelings,” and cheerfully sipped a little iced champagne. As he left the table arm-in-arm with his friend, the landlord approached, bowing, and begged to know where he should send for his trunk, as No. 24, a fine airy room, which would suit him to a charm, was at present empty. Tom said he would send the baggage up, and after lighting a choice Havana, strolled out with an air aristocratic.
In good time, the trunk arrived—a rude one, but very heavy. The landlord winked as the servant bent beneath its weight, and remarked, as he paid the porterage, that a large quantity of bullion was generally rather heavy. Tom was in clover—the thousand dollar bill got whispered about, and one of his creditors, a fashionable tailor, insisted on trusting him for another suit; he yielded after much persuasion, and it was astonishing how everything altered with Tom's appearance. His note was good for any small sum now, and it was a pleasure to make his acquaintance.