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Updated: June 29, 2025
"I couldn't do it, Hank." The barkeeper sank back into his chair, and, with his elbows on the table, he ran his blunt fingers through the fringe of hair around his glistening pate. "I'm in a hole. I'm clean done for. I wouldn't be good at such a racket as that. I wouldn't know how to fix it. I'd forget my tale; I ain't got much memory. Hush, I saw that gambler turn the corner. He's headed here."
It was another when they imported one of our sleeping-cars the other day. And it warmed my heart more than I can tell, yesterday, when I witnessed the spectacle of an Englishman ordering an American sherry cobbler of his own free will and accord and not only that but with a great brain and a level head reminding the barkeeper not to forget the strawberries.
But Joe Bodley, the young barkeeper, imported from the city, was just the sort of fellow Cross Moore could use. And about this time Joe Bodley was in a position where his fingers "itched for the feel of money." Not other people's money, but his own. He had scraped together all he had saved, and drawn ahead on his wages, to make up the hundred dollars paid Hopewell Drugg for the violin, and
"He's not a barkeeper, he's a teetotaler," Carr corrected, "and he's the greatest filibuster alive. He knows these waters as you know Broadway, and he's the salt of the earth. I did him a favor once; sort of mouse-helping-the-lion idea. Just through dumb luck I found out about this expedition. The government agents in New York found out I'd found out and sent for me to tell.
Twenty-four of the injured were lying in Holcomb's dry-goods store at one time, where they received every attention before being removed to more comfortable places. A list of the names followed, whereby it appeared that of the seventeen dead, one was the barkeeper; and among the forty-seven wounded, were the captain, chief mate, second mate, and second and third clerks; also Mr.
The victim waived his hand impatiently, and faintly exclaimed: "You won't do; somebody that's better acquainted with God than you are must do it." "But, Baggs," reasoned the barkeeper, "perhaps he's been a preacher you'd better not throw away a chance." "Don't care if he has," whispered Baggs; "he don't look like any of the prayin' people mother used to know."
Even on the mountain road the air was still sharp, and that urgent necessity for something to keep out the chill, which sent the barkeeper sleepily among his bottles and wineglasses at the station, obtained all along the road. Perhaps it might be said that the first stir of life was in the bar-rooms.
After drinking the officer said: "An old gentleman entered a short time since. I had my eye on him, and would like to see him." "Man with long hair, and one eye?" "No. A real gentleman, with gray hair and beard." "Seems 's though I do remember seeing such a chap," uttered the barkeeper. "How long ago was it?" "Nearly an hour." "Probably he went away." "Not by the front door." "Eh!
But Phil seemed to have such implicit confidence in himself, to be so self-sufficient and so ready for any emergency, and altogether such a perfect man of action, that he inspired belief and confidence in others. "We met Herbert on our way up from the station: he was standing in front of the 'Gazette' office, laughing and talking with Sudden's barkeeper.
I would at any time trust my life in his hands." "I am willing to do so." Then turning to the bar-keeper, Mr. Hobart said "I'll take a glass of brandy and water, and you may add some mint." "Perhaps you'll have a mint julep?" suggested the barkeeper, winking aside to a man who stood near, listening to what passed between the two members of the Order. "Yes I don't care yes.
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