The Argosy, Vol. XXV, No. 1 — page 63: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

SULLIVAN JONES’ BOARDERS. 3 63 window was raised, and the harsh voice of Mr. Sullivan Jones himself answered: ‘‘ What’s wanted down thar?’ The men stepped off the porch and looked up. ‘““ Are you Mr. Jones?’ said one. ‘“That’s my name, sir.”’ ‘Ah, well. You perhaps recollect an inquiry some time ago from the city concerning accommodations for two fishermen. We are the parties who wrote you.’’ © ‘Waal, waal. Is that so? I had no idee you was comin’. Just wait a minit, will ye?’’ The window was slammed down, and soona light shone and a commotion was heard in the house, and then the door was opened and Mr. Jones ushered his guests inside, slamming the door in the face of the inquisitive group from the station who had followed on behind. Before eight o’clock the next morning all Dauphin had passed and repassed by the tavern door, much to the glory of old Jones, who smoked his pipe on the porch and smiled kindly on the villagers. It was nearly noon, however, when the new arrivals condescended to come down stairs, and, while they were partaking of a late breakfast in the special dining room, the crowd flocked into the combined barroom and office and read on the pages of the register—which book, by the way, had been opened thirty years be- fore and was nearly a quarter full—the neatly inscribed entries, on which the ink was hardly dry: | J. Mayne Prior, NEw York. DoucGLAs R. Mortiock, NEw York. While old Jones attends to the wants of the thirsty crowd in the barroom, we will take a glance at the important individuals at breakfast. In the light of day they appear a little older perhaps, and the expression of their uneasy gray eyes would impress a close observer of character rather unfavorably. ‘There is an indefinable something that rather detracts from the gentle appearance of those soft beards and mustaches. ‘‘ All right so far,’’ says Mr. Prior, as he dissects a tempting omelette. " Yes,’’ responds Mr. Mortlock, who is slowly sipping his coffee. ‘‘ The outlook is favorable, and as for the people with whom our lot is cast I must confess they appear childlike and bland to a marked degree.’’ Breakfast over, the two go out and smoke their cigars on the porch. The afternoon is devoted to getting on the right side of the citizens, which is speedily accomplished by a general invitation to appear before the bar, and before nightfall Dauphin has unanimously declared the strangers to be two of the most perfect gentlemen that ever graced the town with their presetice. They prove to be enthusiastic sportsmen, and under the expert guidance of Mr. Jones, who is an oracle on angling, they spend the next few days in fishing for bass around the piers of the old bridge, but strange to say it is old Jones who catches all the fish. They do a little gunning for snipe, too, and in the evening they come out on the tavern porch, and listen to the some- what remarkable conversations that take place, for Dauphin is at present the Eomichook (<@)