"A little liquid refreshment is in order fust, I reckon," quoth the Colonel. "I claim the privilege, of course. And after that--you have sporting blood, suh? You will desire to take a turn or two foh the honor of the Empire State?" The inference was not quite clear. To develop it I replied guardedly, albeit unwilling to pose as a milksop. "I assuredly am not averse to any legitimate amusement." "That's it," Bill commended. "Nobody is, who has red in him; and a fellow kin see you've cut yore eye-teeth. What might you prefer, in line of a pass-the-time, on spec'?" "What is there, if you please?" I encouraged. He and the Colonel gravely contemplated each other. Bill scratched his head, and slowly closed one eye. "There's a good open game of stud at the North Star," he proffered. "I kin get the gentleman a seat. No limit." "Maybe our friend's luck don't run to stud," hazarded the Colonel. "Stud exacts the powers of concentration, like faro." And he also closed one eye. "It's rather early in the evening foh close quarters. Are you particularly partial to the tiger or the cases, suh?" he queried of me. "Or would you be able to secure transient happiness in short games, foh a starter, while we move along, like a bee from flower to flower, gathering his honey?" "If you are referring to card gambling, sir," I answered, "you have chosen a poor companion. But I do not intend to be a spoil sport, and I shall be glad to have you show me whatever you think worth while in the city, so far as I have the leisure." "That's it, that's it, suh." The Colonel appeared delighted. "Let us libate to the gods of chance, gentlemen; and then take a stroll." "My bag will be safe here?" I prompted, as we were about to file out. "Absolutely, suh. Personal property is respected in Benton. We'd hang the man who moved that bag of yours the fraction of one inch." This at least was comforting. As much could not be said of New York City. The Colonel led down the echoing hall and the shaking stairs, into the lobby, peopled as before by men in all modes of attire and clustered mainly at the bar. He led directly to the bar itself. "Three, Ed. Name your likker, gentlemen. A little Double X foh me, Ed." "Old rye," Bill briefly ordered. The bartender set out bottle and whiskey glasses, and looked upon me. I felt that the bystanders were waiting. My garb proclaimed the "pilgrim," but I was resolved to be my own master, and for liquor I had no taste. "Lemonade, if you have it," I faltered. "Yes, sir." The bartender cracked not a smile, but a universal sigh, broken by a few sniggers, voiced the appraisal of the audience. Some of the loafers eyed me amusedly, some turned away. "Surely, suh, you will temper that with a dash of fortifiah," the Colonel protested. "A pony of brandy, Ed--or just a dash to cut the water in it. To me, suh, the water in this country is vile--inimical to the human stomick." "Thank you," said I, "but I prefer plain lemonade."