saw a thing neater done. If you thought there was anything unfair about
him, why didn't you head him off?"

"Yes, damme," echoed Mr. Barton, bringing down his fist upon the bar, so
that the glasses jumped, "why didn't you head him off?" Mr. Barton's
face was suspiciously flushed, and he was more excited than the occasion
justified.

There was no answer to the question, except that which none of the young
bucks dared to make.

"Well, I've had about enough of this," said Mr. Joel Ferris, turning on
his heel; "who's for home?"

"Me!" answered three or four, with more readiness than grammar. Some of
the steadier young farmers, who had come for an afternoon's recreation,
caring little who was first in at the death, sat awhile and exchanged
opinions about crops and cattle; but Barton and Fortune kept together,
whispering much, and occasionally bursting into fits of uproarious
laughter. The former was so captivated by his new friend, that before he
knew it every guest was gone. The landlord had lighted two or three
tallow candles, and now approached with the question:

"Will you have supper, gentlemen?"

"That depends on what you've got," said Fortune.

This was not language to which the host was accustomed. His guests were
also his fellow-citizens: if they patronized him, he accommodated them,
and the account was balanced. His meals were as good as anybody's,