"I was agoin' to git ye a whole stage-load, to stay all night, but that one'll do ye, I reckon. Ha, ha!" And off he went, probably fearing that I would throw his pa.s.senger up on the top of the stage again.

The new-comer entered the gate. He was a dark man, with black hair and black whiskers and mustache, and black eyes. He wore clothes that had been black, but which were now toned down by a good deal of dust, and, as I have said, he carried a black valise.

"Why did you stop here?" said I, rather inhospitably. "Don't you know that we do not accommodate--"

"Yes, I know," he said, walking up on the piazza and setting down his valise, "that you only take soldiers, sailors, farmers, and mechanics at this house. I have been told all about it, and if I had not thoroughly understood the matter I should not have thought of such a thing as stopping here. If you will sit down for a few moments I will explain."

Saying this, he took a seat on a bench by the door, but Euphemia and I continued to stand.

"I am," he continued, "a soldier, a sailor, a farmer, and a mechanic.

Do not doubt my word; I will prove it to you in two minutes. When but seventeen years of age, circ.u.mstances compelled me to take charge of a farm in New Hampshire, and I kept up that farm until I was twenty-five.

During this time I built several barns, wagon-houses, and edifices of the sort on my place, and, becoming expert in this branch of mechanical art, I was much sought after by the neighboring farmers, who employed me to do similar work for them. In time I found this new business so profitable that I gave up farming altogether. But certain unfortunate speculations threw me on my back, and finally, having gone from bad to worse, I found myself in Boston, where, in sheer desperation, I went on board a coasting vessel as landsman. I remained on this vessel for nearly a year, but it did not suit me. I was often sick, and did not like the work. I left the vessel at one of the Southern ports, and it was not long after she sailed that, finding myself utterly without means, I enlisted as a soldier. I remained in the army for some years, and was finally honorably discharged. So you see that what I said was true. I belong to each and all of these businesses and professions. And now that I have satisfied you on this point, let me show you a book for which I have the agency in this country." He stooped down, opened his valise, and took out a good-sized volume. "This book," said he, "is the 'Flora and Fauna of Carthage County;' it is written by one of the first scientific men of the country, and gives you a description, with an authentic wood-cut, of each of the plants and animals of the county--indigenous or naturalized. Owing to peculiar advantages enjoyed by our firm, we are enabled to put this book at the very low price of three dollars and seventy-five cents. It is sold by subscription only, and should be on the center-table in every parlor in this county. If you will glance over this book, sir, you will find it as interesting as a novel, and as useful as an encyclopaedia--"

"I don't want the book," I said, "and I don't care to look at it."

"But if you were to look at it you would want it, I'm sure."

"That's a good reason for not looking at it, then," I answered. "If you came to get us to subscribe for that book we need not take up any more of your time, for we shall not subscribe."

"Oh, I did not come for that alone," he said. "I shall stay here to-night and start out in the morning to work up the neighborhood. If you would like this book--and I'm sure you have only to look at it to do that--you can deduct the amount of my bill from the subscription price, and--"

"What did you say you charged for this book?" asked Euphemia, stepping forward and picking up the volume.

"Three seventy-five is the subscription price, ma'am, but that book is not for sale. That is merely a sample. If you put your name down on my list you will be served with your book in two weeks. As I told your husband, it will come very cheap to you, because you can deduct what you charge me for supper, lodging, and breakfast."

"Indeed!" said my wife, and then she remarked that she must go in the house and get supper.

"When will supper be ready?" the man asked, as she pa.s.sed him.

At first she did not answer him, but then she called back:

"In about half an hour."

"Good," said the man; "but I wish it was ready now. And now, sir, if you would just glance over this book, while we are waiting for supper--"

I cut him very short and went out into the road. I walked up and down in front of the house, in a bad humor. I could not bear to think of my wife getting supper for this fellow, who was striding about on the piazza, as if he was very hungry and very impatient. Just as I returned to the house, the bell rang from within.

"Joyful sound!" said the man, and in he marched. I followed close behind him. On one end of the table, in the kitchen, supper was set for one person, and, as the man entered, Euphemia motioned him to the table. The supper looked like a remarkably good one. A cup of coffee smoked by the side of the plate; there was ham and eggs and a small omelette; there were fried potatoes, some fresh radishes, a plate of hot biscuit, and some preserves. The man's eyes sparkled.

"I am sorry," said he, "that I am to eat alone, for I hoped to have your good company; but, if this plan suits you, it suits me," and he drew up a chair.

"Stop!" said Euphemia, advancing between him and the table. "You are not to eat that. This is a sample supper. If you order a supper like it, one will be served to you in two weeks."

At this I burst into a roar of laughter; my wife stood pale and determined, and the man drew back, looking first at one of us, and then at the other.

"Am I to understand--?" he said.

"Yes," I interrupted, "you are. There is nothing more to be said on this subject. You may go now. You came here to annoy us, knowing that we did not entertain travelers, and now you see what you have made by it," and I opened the door.

The man evidently thought that a reply was not necessary, and he walked out without a word. Taking up his valise, which he had put in the hall, he asked if there was any public-house near by.

"No," I said; "but there is a farm-house a short distance down the road, where they will be glad to have you." And down the road he went to Mrs.

Carson's. I am sorry to say that he sold her a "Flora and Fauna" before he went to bed that night.

We were much amused at the termination of this affair, and I became, if possible, a still greater admirer of Euphemia's talents for management.

But we both agreed that it would not do to keep up the sign any longer.

We could not tell when the irate driver might not pounce down upon us with a customer.

"But I hate to take it down," said Euphemia; "it looks so much like a surrender."

"Do not trouble yourself," said I. "I have an idea."

The next morning I went down to Danny Carson's little shop,--he was a wheelwright as well as a farmer,--and I got from him two pots of paint--one black and one white--and some brushes. I took down our sign, and painted out the old lettering, and, instead of it, I painted, in bold and somewhat regular characters, new names for our tavern.

On one side of the sign I painted:

"SOAP-MAKER'S AND BOOK-BINDER'S HOTEL."

And on the other side:

"UPHOLSTERERS'

AND DENTISTS'

HOUSE."

"Now then," I said, "I don't believe any of those people will be traveling along the road while we are here, or, at any rate, they won't want to stop."

We admired this sign very much, and sat on the piazza, that afternoon, to see how it would strike Bill, as he pa.s.sed by. It seemed to strike him pretty hard, for he gazed with all his eyes at one side of it, as he approached, and then, as he pa.s.sed it, he actually pulled up to read the other side.

"All right!" he called out, as he drove off. "All right! All right!"

Euphemia didn't like the way he said "all right." It seemed to her, she said, as if he intended to do something which would be all right for him, but not at all so for us. I saw she was nervous about it, for that evening she began to ask me questions about the traveling propensities of soap-makers, upholsterers, and dentists.

"Do not think anything more about that, my dear," I said. "I will take the sign down in the morning. We are here to enjoy ourselves, and not to be worried."

"And yet," said she, "it would worry me to think that that driver frightened us into taking down the sign. I tell you what I wish you would do. Paint out those names, and let me make a sign. Then I promise you I will not be worried."

The next day, therefore, I took down the sign and painted out my inscriptions. It was a good deal of trouble, for my letters were fresh, but it was a rainy day, and I had plenty of time, and succeeded tolerably well. Then I gave Euphemia the black-paint pot and the freedom of the sign.

I went down to the creek to try a little fishing in wet weather, and when I returned the new sign was done. On one side it read:

FLIES'

AND WASPS'

HOTEL.