He had two ruling passions: the influence he thought himself entitled to exert over women; and his disposition to play practical jokes on men.Both the first and the second of these weaknesses grew out of his confidence that he had nothing to fear from either sex.Nevertheless he had felt forced to admit that his charms had never prevailed with Amy Falconer.He had often wondered how she could resist; but she had resisted without the least effort.Still, he pursued, and he had once told her with smiling candour that if she did not mind the pursuit, he did not mind the chase.Only, he never urged it into the presence of Mrs.Falconer, of whom alone he stood in speechless, easily comprehensible awe.Perhaps to-night--as Amy had never seen him in ball-dress--she might begin to succumb; he had just placed her under obligation to him by an unexpected stroke of good fortune; and finally he had executed one neat stratagem at the expense of Mr.Bradford and another at the expense of John Gray.So that esteeming himself in a fair way to gratify one passion and having already gratified the other, he leaned back in his chair, smiling, smoking, drinking.
He had just risen to pinch the wick in the lamp overhead when a knock sounded on the door, and to his surprise and displeasure--for he thought he had bolted it--there entered without waiting to be bidden a low, broadchested, barefooted, blond fellow, his brown-tow breeches rolled up to his knees, showing a pair of fine white calves; a clean shirt thrown open at the neck and rolled up to the elbows, displaying a noble pair of arms; a ruddy shine on his good-humoured face; a drenched look about his short, thick, whitish hair; and a comfortable smell of soap emanating from his entire person.
Seeing him, O'Bannon looked less displeased; but keeping his seat and merely taking the pipe from his lips, he said, with an air of sarcasm, "I would have invited you to come in, Peter, but I see you have not waited for the invitation."Peter deigned no reply; but walking forward, he clapped down on the oak slab a round handful of shillings and pence."Count it, and see if it's all there," he said, taking a short cob pipe out of his mouth and planting his other hand stoutly on his hip.
"What's this for?" O'Bannon spoke in a tone of wounded astonishment.
"What do you suppose it's for? Didn't I hear you've been out collecting?""Well, you have had an advertisement running in the paper for some time.""That's what it's for then! And what's more, I've got the money to pay for a better one, whenever you'll write it.""Sit down, sit down, sit down!" O'Bannon jumped from his chair, hurried across the room--a little unsteadily--emptied a pile of things on the floor, and dragged back a heavy oak stool."Sit down.And Peter?" he added inquiringly, tapping his empty drinking-cup.
Peter nodded his willingness.O'Bannoli drew a key from his pocket and shook it temptingly under Peter's nose.Then he bolted the door and unlocked the cupboard, displaying a shelf filled with bottles.
"All for advertisements!" he said, waving his hand at the collection."And a joke on Mr.Bradford.Fourth-proof French brandy, Jamaica rum, Holland gin, cherry bounce, Martinique cordial, Madeira, port, sherry, cider.All for advertisements! Two or three of these dealers have been running bills up, and to-day I stepped in and told them we'd submit to be paid in merchandise of this kind.And here's the merchandise.What brand of merchandise will you take?""We had better take what you have been taking.""As you please." He brought forward another drinking-cup and a bottle.
"Hold on!" cried Peter, laying a hand on his arm."My advertisement first!""As you please."
"About twice as long as the other one," instructed Peter.
"As you please." O'Bannon set the bottle down, took up a goose-quill, and drew a sheet of paper before him.
"My business is increasing," prompted Peter still further, with a puzzled look as to what should come next."Put that in!""Of course," said O'Bannon."I always put that in."He was thinking impatiently about the ball and he wrote out something quickly and read it aloud with a thick, unsteady utterance:
"'Mr.Peter Springle continues to carry on the blacksmith business opposite the Sign of the Indian Queen.Mr.Springle cannot be rivalled in his shoeing of horses.He keeps on hand a constant supply of axes, chains, and hoes, which he will sell at prices usually asked--'""Stop," interrupted Peter who had sniffed a strange, delicious odour of personal praise in the second sentence."You might say something more about me, before you bring in the axes.""As you please."
"'Mr.Peter Springle executes his work with satisfaction and despatch; his work is second to none in Kentucky; no one surpasses him; he is a noted horseshoer; he does nothing but shoe horses.'" He looked at Peter inquiringly.
"That sounds more like it," admitted Peter.
"Is that enough?"
"Oh, if that's all you can say!""'Mr.Springle devotes himself entirely to the shoeing of fine horses; fine horses are often injured by neglect in shoeing; Mr.Springle does not injure fine horses, but shoes them all around with new shoes at one dollar for each horse.'""Better," said Peter." Only, don't say so much about the horses! Say more about--""'Mr.Springle is the greatest blacksmith that ever left New Jersey--'""Or that ever lived I'll New Jersey."O'Bannon rose and pinched the cotton wick, seized the bottle, and poured out more liquor.
"Peter," he said, squaring himself, "I'm going to let you into a secret.If you were not drunk, I wouldn't tell you.You'll forget it by morning.""If I were half as drunk as you are, I couldn't listen," retorted Peter."Idon't want to know any secrets.I tell everything I know.""You don't know any secrets? You don't know that last week Horatio Turpin sold a ten dollar horse in front of your shop for a hundred because he had--""Oh, I know some secrets about horses," admitted Peter, carelessly.
