"Landlord!" The voice came loud from the road in front of the
house, and Simon Slade again left me to answer the demands of some
new-comer. I went into the bar-room, in order to take a closer
observation of Willy Hammond, in whom an interest, not unmingled
with concern, had already been awakened in my mind. I found him
engaged in a pleasant conversation with a plain-looking farmer,
whose homely, terse, common sense was quite as conspicuous as his
fine play of words and lively fancy. The farmer was a substantial
conservative, and young Hammond a warm admirer of new ideas and
the quicker adaptation of means to ends. I soon saw that his
mental powers were developed beyond his years, while his personal
qualities were strongly attractive. I understood better, after
being a silent listener and observer for ten minutes, why the
landlord had spoken of him so warmly.

"Take a brandy-toddy, Mr. H--?" said Hammond, after the discussion
closed, good humoredly. "Frank, our junior bar-keeper here, beats
his father, in that line."

"I don't care if I do," returned the farmer; and the two passed up
to the bar.

"Now, Frank, my boy, don't belie my praises," said the young man;
"do your handsomest."

"Two brandy-toddies, did you say?" Frank made inquiry with quite a
professional air.

"Just what I did say; and let them be equal to Jove's nectar."