The landlord shrugged his shoulders, and looked slightly
mysterious, as he answered:

"I never inquire about the business of a guest. My calling is to
entertain strangers. If they are pleased with my house, and pay my
bills on presentation, I have no right to seek further. As a
miller, I never asked a customer, whether he raised, bought, or
stole his wheat. It was my business to grind it, and I took care
to do it well. Beyond that, it was all his own affair. And so it
will be in my new calling. I shall mind my own business and keep
my own place."

Besides young Hammond and this Harvey Green, there were in the
bar-room, when I entered, four others besides the landlord. Among
these was a Judge Lyman--so he was addressed--a man between forty
and fifty years of age, who had a few weeks before received the
Democratic nomination for member of Congress. He was very
talkative and very affable, and soon formed a kind of centre of
attraction to the bar-room circle. Among other topics of
conversation that came up was the new tavern, introduced by the
landlord, in whose mind it was, very naturally, the uppermost
thought.

"The only wonder to me is," said Judge Lyman, "that nobody had wit
enough to see the advantage of a good tavern in Cedarville ten
years ago, or enterprise enough to start one. I give our friend
Slade the credit of being a shrewd, far-seeing man; and, mark my
word for it, in ten years from to-day he will be the richest man
in the county."