It was far from what the Swede had expected; but he accepted the task, obediently.
The only saloon of the town stood almost exactly opposite Hans Becher’s place, flush with the street. A long, low building, communicating with the outer world by one door––sans glass––its single window in front and at the rear lit it but imperfectly at midday, and now at early evening made faces almost indistinguishable, and cast kindly shadow over the fly specks and smoke stains of a low roof. A narrow pine bar, redolent of tribute absorbed from innumerable passing “schooners,” stretched the entire length of the room at one side; and back of it, in shirt sleeves and stained apron, presided the 189 typical bar-keeper of the frontier. All this Ichabod saw as he stepped inside; then, himself in shadow, he studied the group before him.
Railroad and cattle men, mostly, made up the gathering, with a scant sprinkling of farmers and others unclassified. A big, ill-dressed fellow was repeating the tale of scandal for the benefit of a newcomer; the narrative moving jerkily over hiccoughs, like hurdles.
“––I drew up to th’ house quick, an’ went up th’ path quiet like,”––he tapped thunderously on the bar with a heavy glass for silence––“quiet––sh-h––like; an’ when I come t’ th’ door, ther’ ’t was open, an’––as I hope––hope t’ die,... drink on me, b’ys, aller y’––set ’m up, Barney ol’ b’y, m’ treat,... hope t’ die, ther’ she sat, like this––” He looked around mistily for a chair, but none was convenient, and he slid flat to the floor in their midst, his face in his hands, blubbering dismally in imitation.... “Sat (hic) like this; rockin’ an’ moanin’ n’ callin’ his name: Asa––Asa––Asa––(hic) Arnold––’shure ’s I’m a sinner she––”
He did not finish. Very suddenly the surrounding 190 group had scattered, and he peered up through maudlin tears to learn the cause. One man alone stood above him. The room had grown still as a church.
The drunken one blinked his watery eyes and showed his yellow teeth in a convivial grin.
“G’d evnin’, pard.... Serve th’––th’ gem’n, Barney; m’ treat.” Again the teeth obtruded. “Was jes’––”
“Get up!”
He of the story winked harder than before.
“Bless m’––” He paused for an expletive, hiccoughed, and forgetting what had caused the halt, stumbled on:––“Didn’ rec’gniz’ y’ b’fore. Shake, ol’ boy. S––sh-sorry for y’.” Tears rose copiously. “Tough––when feller’s wife––”