"Hello, Gabe, is that you? I'm dern glad to see you!" "How's things out in the hill?" "Many of the boys comin' down to-day?" "By jingo, yon look sorter blue round the gills; come up and name yer ruin," exclaimed a dozen voices, and as many hands were extended to welcome the new arrival.
Amongst those welcoming Gabe was Hank Seymour, the owner of one of the most valuable claims on the creek — a good natured fellow, whose worst enemy was his appetite ; who never visited the town without getting drunk, and, when in that condition, and unfit for any business, visiting the gambling-houses and losing heavily. He had been one of the first to arrive on the morning alluded to, and had immediately commenced drinking.
"Thank yer; 'blieve I will wet my sofergrass with a mite of Kaintuck wine. It's powerful good for a steady drink; a miserable sight better nor champagne and absence; sticks closer to yer ribs, and don't leave no headache behind. Then, again, it's a home production, and I allers allow that a man as don't patternize home products ain't worth shucks. So, bar-keep, yer may jiss pass over yer corn-juice!"
"Will you take bitters or sugar, sir?"
"Sugar or bitters in liquor? Not by a derned sight! When I drink liquor I drink it for itself, and not for bitters or other adjunctifications. I sorter imagine that yer don't reckon I'm from Pike county, Missouri, or you wouldn't ask me if I drank sugar or bitters in my liquor! No sir-ee, Bob! I allers drinks my liquor straight!"
