shoulders a significant shrug), that a body has to keep a sharp eye in
the wind.' Suddenly he began to drum on the mahogany, screw his face
into a disc of puckers, and look so wise. So glad did he seem, that he
whistled Yankee Doodle with the variations, looked every which way,
and then laughed right out at what he called Smooth's outfit.

"'Needn't laugh at the fixens--old feller!' says I, 'Uncle Sam and me
are going into the tin business, and Sam, being a generous old butt,
will stand all the treats and hotel bills. Besides that, I was born in
the very sand heap where Tom Coffin was raised.'

"'Who cares for Tom' says he, turning aside, and making a polite bow
to a thirsty senator from the far west: the senatorial gent bent his
neck over, and approaching with his lips the ear of the important
individual, whispered something from out the smallest corner. This
something, when translated into decent English, might be rendered
thus:--If justice and gin slings are administered at your bar, pray
direct me the way to it! The fat man pointed up a narrow, dark, and
very long passage; and then suddenly turning to me, he said: 'If Tom
Coffin lived now-a-days, when politics went on the fast, he wouldn't
be worth shooks, he not having a vote, nor wanting an office under the
new administration.' 'Now, stranger,' says I, directing a look as if I
was going to strike something at him, 'don't make such a fuss about
the needful--look'a here!' I just plumps out Uncle Zack Brewster's
letter, and having fascinated his eye, tells him how Cochran and Riggs
'll do the dust. Like an hydraulic current let loose did the fellow
prick up his ears: then he said, '_do_ tell,' with a musical emphasis
that seemed so full of credit. Again he drew a long breath, and a
seriousness came over his face that could only be likened to that of a
South Carolina locomotive when drawing a whole convention of