THE BANQUET, AND WHAT FOLLOWED.
Richard Ashton had been invited by some of his friends to a supper
at the Metropolitan Hotel, which had been specially got up for his
benefit.
His first thought was that he would absolutely refuse to accept
the invitation--he was afraid he might be tempted to drink; but as
he concluded it would be considered ungracious on his part to
refuse he decided to go, but only on the understanding if there
was any toast-drinking he would be permitted to pledge them in
pure cold water.
When the members of the committee who had been appointed to wait
upon him heard his decision, they said they certainly could not
object to his observing his own mind; that they had no desire to
cause him to violate his principles; in fact, they gave it as
their opinion that there would not be a person present who would
not respect him the more for proving that he had the courage of
his convictions.
Upon the night appointed he went to the banquet, and it passed off
as such affairs usually do. Many very gracious and pleasant things
were said of the guest of the evening in the eulogistic strains
which generally characterize speeches made on such occasions. How
much of what was said was sincere, and how much mere complimentary
phraseology of the dental kind, I will allow those who are in the
habit of attending such parties to decide.
The meeting at last ended, as all meetings on earth do. But this
differed in one respect from the great majority of such
gatherings--that is, those who attended it at least left the
banqueting room sober; though, as the sequel will show, one of
them was not so fortunate as to reach his lodgings in that
condition.
"I will accompany you home, Ashton," said one who had taken a very
active part in the entertainment.
"I am sure, Chappell, I should like very much to have your
company, but I could not think of allowing you to put yourself to
such trouble on my account; of course you are aware that I am well
acquainted with the city."
"Oh, I am well aware of that, but you seem to forget that until we
cross the bridge my way home lies in the same direction as your
own; and then I can, after seeing you up the avenue, cross by the
way of Alexander or Jefferson Street to my own lodgings."
"It is exceedingly kind of you, Chappell, to make the offer, and I
shall be thankful for your company as far as the bridge, but I
shall insist upon our separating there, as I will soon reach
Reid's after that."
Chappell, after what seemed at least to be a vigorous protest,
finally yielded, and they started on their homeward journey.
The night was dark and cold--one of those chilly nights which we
frequently experience in the first week of June--and they had to
walk along briskly to keep themselves warm.
"Halloa, Chappell, is that you? Where are you going at this time
of night? It seems to me rather peculiar that a man who sits in
his pew every Sunday and listens to eloquent homilies on the evils
that result from the keeping of late hours and indulging in
bacchanalian revels should be wending his way home in the small
hours of the morning. Come, sir, give an account of yourself!" and
he slapped Chappell familiarly on the shoulder, and stood right in
his way, hindering his further progress.
"Allow me, Lawrence," said Chappell, "before answering your
question, to introduce you to Mr. Ashton."
"Oh, that is not necessary; we are old acquaintances, but I did
not expect to have the pleasure of meeting him to-night. I thought
he had migrated northward. I am happy to meet you again, Mr.
Ashton; but it is cold, let us step into Conglin's, he is open
yet. I want a few moments' conversation with you, Chappell."
Chappell asked Ashton if he would have any objections, and he, in
reply, said if they would excuse him he'd journey homeward, for
his friends, Mr. and Mrs. Reid, with whom he was stopping, would
not go to bed until he returned, and he would be sinning against
their hospitality by remaining longer.
"But a few moments will not make any particular difference," said
Lawrence, "and you will particularly oblige me if you step in for
a moment or two, as I should like to have your opinion in regard
to something of consequence."
Ashton, who, as the reader has already discovered, had a facile
disposition, and was easily persuaded, yielded, and followed
Lawrence and Chappell into the cosy sitting-room of Conglin's
hotel.
The fire was burning brightly, and the atmosphere of the room was
particularly warm and comfortable to men who had been out in the
chill night air as they had been, with clothing that was not heavy
enough to keep them warm.
"Just remain here a moment or two, gentlemen," said Lawrence, "I
have a word or two to say to our mutual friend, Tom."
According to his promise he soon returned, but the landlord
accompanied him carrying a tray, upon which there were three
steaming glasses of whiskey punch.
"Gentlemen," said Lawrence, "it is not necessary for me to
introduce you to Tom Conglin, for you have both been acquainted
with him and his liquors in the long ago, and you know he always
kept the very best brands. But I think this old rye is better than
any he has ever had before. It is only, however, as the Scripture
says "darkening counsel by words," to tell either of you the
quality of liquor, for you have only to taste to immediately and
correctly pass judgment. It was in regard to this matter I asked
for your counsel. Come, gentlemen, after paying your respects to
our jolly host we will do honor to his liquor."
They both shook hands with old Tom Conglin, a large, red-faced
individual, who, evidently, knew the flavor of his favorite
liquors. He expressed himself as particularly delighted to meet
Ashton, and said he was sorry that they lost him; which no doubt
was true, for Ashton had been one of his best customers, and had
left with him many a dollar.
Chappell, who was standing near to Ashton, and was afraid he was
about to refuse, whispered to him not to do so. "It will give
offence," he said. "A glass will do you no harm, and may do you a
great deal of good."
When the tray was presented he hesitated a moment, and then
stifling, as men will sometimes, every warning of conscience, he
took the fatal glass, and was again the foolish victim of his
facile disposition and his appetite for strong drink.
He might, if he had watched the faces of Chappell and Lawrence,
have noticed that a significant look passed between them when he
took the glass, and that a gleam of hellish triumph shone in their
eyes.
"Come, Tom, bring us some more liquor," said Chappell. "I will
have another glass of punch. What will you have, gentlemen?"
"I will have the same," said Lawrence.
"What will you have, Ashton?" and as Ashton hesitated a moment
before replying Chappell spoke for him: "Silence gives consent; he
will keep us company."
"Of course you will bring one for yourself, Tom."
"I never refuse to take a glass with a gentleman, especially in
such company as the present."
They were soon engaged sipping their fuming punch, and in a very
short time Ashton seemed the gayest and most voluble of the
company.