"I C hur a-Goin on The rode 2 forneys Kragg."

"Ah!" ejaculated Mrs. LADLE joyfully, "traced at last." And she ran to
tell the Hon. MICHAEL all about it.

* * *

The Half-Way House at Forney's Crag was a hoary-headed old vagabond of a
house, that had passed the heyday of its youth long before that great
encyclopaedia, the oldest inhabitant, emitted his first infantile
squawk. Each successive season caused it to lean a little more and the
most casual observer must perceive that it couldn't by any possibility
become much leaner without pining entirely away.

Nevertheless, it had been the only hotel that Spunkville could boast,
all within a short period of this writing. Like most Western hotels, it
had been ably supported by a large floating population, known as "New
York Drummers," and many a time had its old walls re-echoed with their
guileless hilarity and moral tales; and, if the ancient and time-honored
spittoon in the bar-room could speak, it could relate wonderful stories
concerning the Sample Gentry; relating, perhaps, to a Spunkville
merchant, who, having retreated precipitately down his cellar stairs
several tunes during the day, to avoid "them confounded drummers, with
their everlasting samples," was, while plodding his lonely way homeward,
seized upon by these commercial freebooters, conveyed forthwith to the
Half-Way House, and there deluged with such a perfect torrent of
brow-beating eloquence as to reduce him to an imbecile state, in which
condition he would willingly order large bills of goods, a custom still
somewhat in vogue, and known as "commanding trade."