“No,” sais I, “I ain’t, I scorn a man dubbin’ himself preacher, without the broughtens up to it, and a lawful warrant for being one. And I scorn cant, it ain’t necessary to trade. If you want that proved to you, wait till I return to-morrow, and if you get to winderd of me in a bargain, I’ll give you leave to put the moustachios on me, that’s a fact. My maxim is to buy as low and sell as high as I can, provided the article will bear a large profit. If not, I take a moderate advance, turn the penny quick, and at it again. I will compound something that will take out your false hair, for I don’t think it will be easy to shave it off. It all came of pretence. What in the world was the reason you couldn’t walk quietly into the cantecoi, where people were enjoying themselves, and either join them, or if you had scruples, keep them to yourself and sit by. Nobody would have molested you. Nothing but cant led you to join temperance societies. A man ought to be able to use, not abuse liquor, but the moment you obligate yourself not to touch it, it kinder sets you a hankering after it, and if you taste it after that, it upsets you, as it did last night. It ain’t easy to wean a calf that takes to suckin’ the second time, that’s a fact. Your pretence set folks agin you. They didn’t half like the interruption for one thing, and then the way you acted made them disrespect you. So you got a most an all-fired trick played on you. And I must say it sarves you right. Now, sais I, go on board and—”
“Oh, Mr Slick,” said he, “oh now, that’s a good fellow, don’t send me on board such a figure as this, I’d rather die fust, I’d never hear the last of it. The men would make me the laughing-stock of Quaco. Oh, I can’t go on board.”
“Well,” sais I, “go to bed then, and put a poultice on your face, to soften the skin.” That warn’t necessary at all, but I said it to punish him. “And when I come back, I will give you a wash, that will make your face as white and as smooth as a baby’s.”
“Oh, Mr Slick,” said he, “couldn’t you—” but I turned away, and didn’t hear him out.
By the time I had done with him, we were all ready to start for the Bachelor Beaver. Peter borrowed an extra horse and waggon, and drove his youngest daughter. Cutler drove Jessie in another, and the doctor and I walked.
“We can travel as fast as they can,” he said, “for part of the road is full of stumps, and very rough, and I like the arrangement, and want to have a talk with you about all sorts of things.”
After travelling about two miles, we struck off the main highway into a wood-road, in which stones, hillocks, and roots of trees so impeded the waggons, that we passed them, and took the lead.
“Are you charged?” said the Doctor, “if not, I think we may as well do so now.”
“Perhaps it would be advisable,” said I. “But where is your gun?”
“I generally am so well loaded,” he replied, “when I go to the woods, I find it an encumbrance. In addition to my other traps, I find forty weight of pemican as much as I can carry.”