Page:Ten Nights in a Bar room.pdf/54

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CORDIAL grasp of the hand and a few words of hearty welcome greeted me as I alighted from the stage at the "Sickle and Sheaf," on my next visit to Cedarville. At the first glance, I saw no change in the countenance, manner, or general bearing of Simon Slade, the landlord. With him, the year seemed to have passed like a pleasant summer lay. His face was round, and full, and rosy, and his eyes sparkled with that good-humor which flows from intense self-satisfaction. Every thing about him seemed to say—"All right with myself and the world."

I had scarcely expected this. From what I saw during my last brief sojourn at the "Sickle and Sheaf," the inference was natural, that