Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 31, 2025
"It's your natural position, anyway." An exclamation of surprise from Perdue caused him to glance quickly around, and the sight which met his gaze was one never to be forgotten. Over the chest stood the saloonkeeper, holding in his hand a well-filled moose-skin poke, which he had just lifted from the bottom of the box. "Is that yours, Tim?" he asked. "Yes," came the reply.
There was but one gleam of gentleness in it all, and that was the friendship that grew up between himself and Little Jim, the son of the saloonkeeper. Jim was a wilful little rascal with a mind of his own. He took to the Wolf because it had killed a Dog that had bitten him.
Perdue craned his neck, and stood on tip-toe to see the speaker, while his flushed face told that the thrust had gone home. "Never mind him, Jim," laughed one of the men. "It's only Joe, the kid, having a little fun." "It's d poor fun, then," surlily replied the saloonkeeper. "Yes, Bill, I'll jine ye, if my help'll do any good to round up the beast, and mebbe there's more'n one."
"Good!" said Charley; "Vail preserved his taste for the antique to the last." "Perdue, what do you think of this for a club-house?" "Just the thing if you can get it. Ten chances to one it belongs to some saloonkeeper who wouldn't rent it for purposes of civilization." "Oh, I'll get it!
Ready for any fresh interest forthcoming, the saloonkeeper clambered hurriedly out of the cellar with the other men close behind him. They mounted the broken walls and looked out upon the crowd. All eyes were turned along the trail coming up from the village, and O'Brien followed the direction of their gaze.
One American they found on the lower reaches of Georgiana who eked an illicit existence by fishing with traps. Another American, who spouted blood and destruction on all political subjects, was an itinerant bee-farmer. At Walnut Grove, bustling with life, the few Americans consisted of the storekeeper, the saloonkeeper, the butcher, the keeper of the drawbridge, and the ferryman.
Maybe you think I'm unpopular with the saloonkeepers because 1 don't drink. You're wrong. The most successful saloonkeepers don't drink themselves and they understand that my temperance is a business proposition, just like their own. I have a saloon under my headquarters. If a saloonkeeper gets into trouble he always knows that Senator Plunkitt is the man to help him out.
The scheme and plan of the popular saloon is to create this appetite, and to strengthen and foster it after it is created. The whole business of the saloon looks in this direction. To this end are its flashing lights, its glittering decanters, its rainbow tints, its jolly good fellowship and boon companionship, and the bonhomie of the portly saloonkeeper.
The old story came to me about the Irish saloonkeeper and his bartender. I called my chum and asked him if Murphy was good for a drink, he replied, "Has he got it?" "He has?" "He is then!" and we all were. I thought it would be impossible for the secret to be kept, but it was until we were on the last leg to Denver. The entire load consisted of cases of the Bitters.
When I pointed out to him what a bad example he set, loafing round saloons, he laughed at me and said he was spending his spare time exactly as Jesus Christ did. 'You'll find, Davy, old man, he said, 'if you'll take the trouble to read your Bible, that Jesus traveled with publicans and sinners and a publican is in plain English a saloonkeeper." "That was very original wasn't it?" said Jane.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking