It was not with complacency that the landlord saw his house given over
to the destructive caprices of a drunken and uncontrollable mob. He
had no means of freeing himself of his guests. When his slatternly
wife had complained: "Them miners an' loggers jest louzes up a body's
house," he had wagged his head dejectedly and spread his great
black-nailed hands. "If that's ther wu'st thing they does hit'll be a
plum God's blessin'," he replied. "Ther law p'intedly fo'ces a
tavern-keeper ter sleep an' eat man an' beast--ef so be they kin pay."
Now the motley crew was in unchallenged possession--and would remain in
possession until the river went down and fords were once more passable.
That a reign of terror would prevail so long as they tarried in town,
in no wise dampened their own exuberance of spirit.
Two or three traveling salesmen had been marooned here, but since the
beginning of this saturnalia they had not been in evidence beyond the
thresholds of their own rooms.
There was no bar at D. W. Kelly's tavern and none was needed, since
every man was duly and individually provisioned and since even in these
flood times a dollar left unwatched on a certain stump up the mountain
side would cause a jug to appear mysteriously in its place.
But since there was no bar, the great room whose door opened directly
upon the porch had been commandeered as a wassailing hall. Here the
entering guest must run the gantlet of the rollicking horde before he
could attain the more peaceful harbor of his own quarters.
About a red hot stove hung a crew of as dirty and disorderly men as
ever came out of coal mine or lumber camp. Those who remained sober
remained also somewhat aloof against the walls and kept their mouths
shut. From the ceiling downward hung the thick, stale cloud of smoke
from many strong pipes and the rancid poison of air discharged from
many lungs had become a stench in the nostrils. Occasional figures
walked with an unsteady lurch, while through the whole chaotic
pandemonium others slept heavily in their chairs--or even on the floor.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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