“That's the talk, Squire!” cried Fortune, giving his friend a hearty slap between the shoulders. “I've seen riding in my day,” he continued, “both down in Loudon and on the Eastern Shore--men born with spurs on their heels, and I tell you this Potter could hold his own, even with the Lees and the Tollivers. We took the hedge together, while you were making a round of I don't know how many miles on the road; and I never saw a thing neater done. If you thought there was anything unfair about him, why didn't you head him off?” “Yes, damme,” echoed Mr. Barton, bringing down his fist upon the bar, so that the glasses jumped, “why didn't you head him off?” Mr. Barton's face was suspiciously flushed, and he was more excited than the occasion justified. There was no answer to the question, except that which none of the young bucks dared to make. “Well, I've had about enough of this,” said Mr. Joel Ferris, turning on his heel; “who's for home?” “Me!” answered three or four, with more readiness than grammar. Some of the steadier young farmers, who had come for an afternoon's recreation, caring little who was first in at the death, sat awhile and exchanged opinions about crops and cattle; but Barton and Fortune kept together, whispering much, and occasionally bursting into fits of uproarious laughter. The former was so captivated by his new friend, that before he knew it every guest was gone. The landlord had lighted two or three tallow candles, and now approached with the question: “Will you have supper, gentlemen?” “That depends on what you've got,” said Fortune. This was not language to which the host was accustomed. His guests were also his fellow-citizens: if they patronized him, he accommodated them, and the account was balanced. His meals were as good as anybody's, though he thought it that shouldn't, and people so very particular might stay away. But he was a mild, amiable man, and Fortune's keen eye and dazzling teeth had a powerful effect upon him. He answered civilly, in spite of an inward protest: “There's ham and eggs, and frizzled beef.” “Nothing could be better!” Fortune exclaimed, jumping up. “Come 'Squire--if I stay over Sunday with you, you must at least take supper at my expense.” Mr. Barton tried to recollect whether he had invited his friend to spend Sunday with him. It must be so, of course; only, he could not remember when he had spoken, or what words he had used. It would be very pleasant, he confessed, but for one thing; and how was he to get over the difficulty? However, here they were, at the table, Fortune heaping his plate like a bountiful host, and talking so delightfully about horses and hounds, and drinking-bouts, and all those wild experiences which have such a charm for bachelors of forty-five or fifty, that it was impossible to determine in his mind what he should do.