I might have given attention to what they were saying, since here were men from Washington, the very fountain of government, if Doctor Chantry had not made me uneasy. He chose the table at which they were sitting and placed himself in the seat nearest the fire, with the utmost nicety about his own comfort. He wiped his horn spectacles, and produced his own ink and quill and memorandum from a breast pocket. I had begged the doctor to keep strict account between us, that I might pay back from my pension whatever he spent on me, and with fine spider-like characters he was proceeding to debit me with the stage fare, when another quill barred his entrance to his ink-horn.
He took off his spectacles and glared pink-eyed at the genial gentleman with sandy upright hair.
"Sir!" he cried, "that is my ink!"
General Jackson, absorbed in talk, did not notice Doctor Chantry, who half arose and shouted directly at his ear,
"Sir, that is my ink!"
He knocked the interloping quill in the direction of its owner.
The genial sandy gentleman changed countenance in a way to astonish beholders.
"Have I disputed it, sir?"
"No, sir, but you have dipped into it without asking leave."
"By God, sir, what is a fip'ny-bit's worth of ink?"