"Whisky be d——d," said the other. "He never got as far as that. It's nothing but sour cider. I can smell it."
Here there was a brutal laugh, in which some of the bystanders, equally degraded, joined.
"For shame, young men," said a respectable-looking person, whose broad-brimmed hat, and formal and amply cut clothing, proclaimed him a Quaker; "is an old man, in tears, a proper subject for ribaldry? It were better ye were engaged in some honest employment, than idling away your time, and disgracing yourselves by the use of profane language."
"Smoke the old quiz, Haxall," cried the boy who had first spoken. "He opens rich. Let's see what's in the prig."
"Smoke him, smoke him," cried several voices.
Thus exhorted, Haxall jerking his cap jauntily on one side of his head, throwing an additional quantity of impudence into his face, and placing his hands on the hips, so that the elbows stuck out on each side, approached the Quaker.
"So you set yourself up for a preacher of righteousness," he said; "do ye? Well, you may preach away without asking my leave, or I'll give it to ye gratis, for nothing. That's cheap enough, I guess. Most of your sort, though, don't like to preach for nothing. So here's my contribution to set you a going." So saying, he held out a cent. "There's value received," he added, "and, mind ye, ye give us a preachment equal to the consideration. But first, beloved brother, I've a question to ask. Up to the tip top of your judgment, now do you think your regimentals is just the right thing, and no mistake? Did Saint Paul and Saint, Saint, d——n the fellows, I forget their names"——
"Saint Tammany," suggested his companion.
"I owe you a drink for that, Bill," said Haxall. "Yes, Saint Tammany. Now, do you think them gentlemen, who I've heard, was real respectable men, though it was rather a comedown to take to preaching, ever sported such an infernal broadbrim as that, or turned out a tail as broad as yours?"
The Quaker gentleman, who, at the commencement of the young scamp's speech, as if frightened at the prospect of a colloquy he had provoked, had betrayed a desire to escape from the crowd, seemed, as the other proceeded, to have changed his mind, and listened to him with the utmost calmness and imperturbable good humor. When the boy had got through with his impertinences, which he ran over with great volubility, garnishing them with many epithets we have omitted, and, at the close, had received the applause of those like him, who stood around, and, now, seemed waiting for a reply, the Quaker, with great sweetness, answered—