The New Hampshire Gazette

From Bell's Weekly Messenger.

A GOOD STORY.

One seldom hears a good story now-a-days: the following is not bad. A year or two ago there came to the Lion, at a pleasant-looking, bustling, great-coated, commercial-traveller sort of body. 'Well, landlord, what have you got, rump-steak, eh? oyster-sauce, eh? bottle of sherry, good, eh? send 'em up.' Dinner was served, the wine dispatched, and a glass of brandy and water comfortably settled the dinner.

'Waiter,' said the traveller, coolly and dispassionately wiping his mouth with a napkin, 'Waiter, I am awkwardly situated.'

'Sir,' said the waiter, 'expecting a love-letter.'

'I cannot pay you.'

'Sorry for that, sir; I must call master.'—(Enter landlord.)

'My good sir, you see this is rather awkward—good dinner! capital dinner! famous wine! glorious grog!—but no cash.'

The landlord looked black.

'Pay next time—often come this road—done nothing to-day—good house yours—a great deal in the bill way.'

The landlord looked blue.

'No difference to you, of course?—pleasant house here—plenty of business—happy to take your order—long credit—good bills.'

'There is my bill, sir—prompt payment—I pay as I go.'

'Ah, but I must go without paying. Let us see—bill 17s 6d, let us have a pint of sherry together—make it up a pound—that will square it.'

'Sir, I say you are a swindler, sir!—I will have my money.'

'Sir, I tell you I will call and pay you in three weeks from this time exactly, or I shall have to pass this road again.'

'None of that, sir; it won't do with me—pay my money, or I'll kick you out.'

The stranger remonstrated—the landlord kicked him out.

'You will repent this,' said the stranger.

The landlord did repent it. Three weeks after that day, punctual to his word, the stranger re-entered the Lion Inn—the landlord looked very foolish—the stranger smiled, and held out his hand—'I've come to pay you my score, as I promised.'

The landlord made a thousand apologies for his rudeness. 'So many swindlers about, there's no knowing whom to trust. Hoped the gentleman would pardon him.'

'Never mind, landlord; but come, let's have some dinner together,—let us be friends.—What have you got, eh? a couple of boiled fowls, eh?—nice little ham of your own curing? good!—greens from your own garden? famous!—bottle of sherry and two bottles of port; Waiter, this is excellent.'

Dinner passed over—the landlord hobbed and nobbed with the stranger—they passed a pleasant afternoon. The landlord retired to attend to his avocations—the stranger finished his 'comforter' of brandy and water, and addressed the waiter,—

'Waiter, what is to pay?'

'Two pounds ten shillings and threepence, sir, including the former account.'

'And half-a-crown for yourself?'

'Makes two pounds twelve shillings and ninepence, sir,' replied the waiter, rubbing his hands.

'Say two pounds thirteen shillings!' said the stranger, with a benevolent smile, and 'call in your master.'

(Enter landlord, smiling and hospitable)

'Sorry you are going so soon, sir.'

The stranger merely said, with a fierce look—

'I owed you seventeen and sixpence three weeks ago, and you kicked me out of your house for it.'

The landlord began to apologise,

'No words, sir; I owed you seventeen and sixpence, and you kicked me out of your house for it. I told you, you would be sorry for it. I now owe you two pounds thirteen shillings,' (and quietly turning his coat-tails from his seat of honor,) 'you must pay yourself in a check on the same bank—for I have no money nor...'