_Peter_—Jim, you have drunk a large quantity of rum at my bar, and you have always paid me for it, as you declare, but I am going to turn over a new leaf, and trust no more. But if you will promise never to ask me to trust you again, I will let you have as nice a glass of rum as you ever drank. _Jim_—Agreed. _Peter_—(pours out some cheap and nasty rum, and squats down behind the counter so that Jim can’t see him, and adulterates it about two-thirds with old Manhattan water, that had been in the pitcher all day)—There’s your rum, Jim, and now drink it, and enjoy yourself. _Jim_—(drinks, and can hardly taste the nasty rum, and makes wry faces,)—How much bilge water did you put in this mean rum, and how much do you intend to put down on the slate against me for this disgusting dose of rum and water? _Peter_—That is nice rum, Jim, and I shall charge you my usual price of three cents a glass. _Jim_—Take that, and that, and that, you stingy old villain. (Throws most of the rum and water into his face, and strikes him twice, and knocks him down, and runs down the Bowery.) _Peter_ (solus and nose bleeding profusely)—I fear the black rascal has broken my nose and ribs, and blackened my eyes badly. I will close the shop, and go and see a physician, and I suppose I shall have to run up quite a Doctor’s bill before my wounds are entirely healed. (Shuts the shop and goes to an Apothecary.) _Peter_—Doctor, nigger Jim has just struck me several times with all his might, and I fear he has mutilated me for life. Just examine my nose and ribs, Doctor, and dress my nose and eyes as soon as possible, so that they will soon heal. _Doctor_—Why did Jim strike you? _Peter_—Well, Doctor, he wanted some rum on credit, and because I hesitated, and finally gave him some very poor rum (rather freely adulterated), to get rid of him, he got angry, and threw the rum and water in my face, and then most cruelly beat me. _Doctor_—Mr. Cooper, why don’t you stop selling rum, and especially to such low characters as nigger Jim? _Peter_—O, I can’t stop selling rum, as I make more profit on that than any thing else. In fact, it is nearly all profit, if properly and judiciously adulterated. _Doctor_—But don’t you impoverish and degrade and render vicious all to whom you sell your poisonous alcohol, and expose their wives and children to all the horrors of poverty, and the brutal ferocity and insanity of a drunken father? _Peter_—O, I don’t know any thing about all that. All I know, as a business man, is, that I get a mighty large profit on my rum, and if my customers get drunk, and abuse and starve their families, and commit theft or murder, that is their fault, and I shall not be responsible for it here, nor hereafter. _Doctor_—I fear you view this matter altogether in the light of selfishness.