"I'll be danged," piped old Jim, "if I don't start right away and try to git a bench. An ailin' man, like me, can't scrouge, as I used to could."
"Go 'long wi' me; I'll jam you through the crowd, or mash you, Jim," offered the backwoodsman. "Fetch out the jug, Sanders, it's my treat. Come up to the counter, neighbors, 'less you mean to insult me. Here, use this dipper, Jim. All must drink—yes, you too, Solly." These last words were addressed to a ghost-like man with a long white beard and insane eyes, who had glided into the store. He was recognized by all present under the name of "Solly," an abbreviation of Solitarius. The demented fanatic sadly shook his head.
"Peace be with you all. Amen!"
"Amen, Solly; how's the Halcyon Itinerary?" asked Hadley, in playful irony. "Where's your revelations?"
"Awake from your dreams." This monition, uttered in a slow, solemn tone, was received by the loafers good-naturedly, being advice they had often heard from the same lips.
"This whiskey'll wake 'em up, Solly, if anything this side of liquid fire can. Here's a tinful for you."
The crazy prophet waved the offering away, raised his palms in silent benediction, and glided out as noiselessly as he had entered.
"Badly cracked," said the grocery-keeper.
"Religion done it," exclaimed Old Jim, between swallows.
The drinks having been paid for, the entire company, led by the backwoodsman, left the store and hurried to the court-house.