The juleps and the late reaction from bitter thought had rendered me of a jovial disposition. The free apology at once won my forgiveness.
“Good as wheat!” assented the pork-dealer. “I’m your man; but, stranger, you must allow me to pay. You see, I’ve won a trifle here. My right to pay for the drinks.”
“Oh! I have no objection.”
“Well, then, let’s all licker! I stand drinks all round. What say you, fellars?” A murmur of assent answered the interrogatory.
“Good!” continued the speaker. “Hyar, bar-keeper! drinks for the crowd!”
And so saying, he of the white-hat and jeans coat stepped forward to the bar, and placed a couple of dollars upon the counter. All who were near followed him, shouting each out the name of the beverage most to his liking in the various calls of “gin-sling,” “cocktail,” “cobbler,” “julep,” “brandy-smash,” and such-like interesting mixtures.
In America men do not sit and sip their liquor, but drink standing. Running, one might say—for, be it hot or cold, mixed or “neat,” it is gone in a gulp, and then the drinkers retire to their chairs to smoke, chew, and wait for the fresh invitation, “Let’s all licker!”
In a few seconds we had all liquored, and the players once more took their seats around the table.
The gentleman who had proposed to me to become his successor did not return to his place. He had no luck, he again said, and would not play any more that night.
Who would accept his place and his partner? I was appealed to.