'Hello, Colonel! how ar' ye?' cried the red-faced liquor-vender, as he caught sight of my companion, and—relinquishing his lucrative employment for a moment—took the Colonel's hand.
'Quite well, thank you, Miles,' said the Colonel, with a certain patronizing air, 'have you seen my man Moye?'
'Moye, no! What's up with him?'
'He's run away with my horse, Firefly—I thought he would have made for this station. At what time does the next train go up?'
'Wal, it's due half arter 'leven, but 'taint gin'rally 'long till nigh one.'
The Colonel was turning to join me at the door, when a well-dressed young man of very unsteady movements, who was filling a glass at the counter, and staring at him with a sort of dreamy amazement, stammered out: 'Moye—run—run a—way, zir! that—k—kant be—by G—d. I know—him, zir—he's a—a friend of mine, and—I'm—I'm d—d if he an't hon—honest.'
'About as honest as the Yankees run,' replied the Colonel: 'he's a d—d thief, sir!'
'Look here—here, zir—don't—don't you—you zay any—thing 'gainst—the Yankees. D—d if—if I an't—one of 'em mezelf—zir,' said the fellow staggering toward the Colonel.
'I don't care what, you are; you're drunk.'
'You lie—you—you d—d 'ris—'ristocrat—take that,' was the reply, and the inebriated gentleman aimed a blow, with all his unsteady might, at the Colonel's face.