r stayin' as he's
got."

"Look here, Hiram," said the Cap'n, stopping him on the porch, "it's
all right to make loud talk to them Double-yer T. Double-yers, but
there ain't any sense in makin' it to each other. You and me can't
run this tavern no more'n hen-hawks can run a revival. Them wimmen--"

"You goin' to let them wimmen cackle for the next two years, and pass
it down to their grandchildren how they done us out of all the money
we put in here--two able-bodied business men like we be? A watch ain't
no good only so long's it's runnin', and a tavern ain't, either. We've
got to run this till we can sell it, wimmen or no wimmen--and you
hadn't ought to be a quitter with thutty-five hunderd in it."

But there was very little enthusiasm or determination in the Cap'n's
face. The sullenness deepened there when he saw a vehicle turn in
at the tavern yard. It was a red van on runners, and on its side was
inscribed:

T. BRACKETT,
TINWARE AND YANKEE NOTIONS.

He was that round-faced, jovial little man who was known far and wide
among the housewives of the section as "Balm o' Joy Brackett," on
account of a certain liniment that he compounded and dispensed as
a side-line. With the possible exception of one Marengo Todd,
horse-jockey and also far-removed cousin of Mrs. Sproul, there was
no one in her circle of cousins that the Cap'n hated any more
cordially than Todd Ward Brackett. Mr. Brackett, by cheerfully
hailing the Cap'n as "Cousin Aaron" at every opportunity, had
regularly added to the latter's vehemence of dislike.

The little man nodded cheery greeting to the showman, cried his usual
"Hullo, Cousin Aaron!" to the surly skipper, bobbed off his van, and
proceeded to unharness.

"Well," sighed Hiram, resignedly, "guest Number One for supper,
lodgin', and breakfast--nine shillin's and hossbait extry. 'Ev'ry
little helps,' as old Bragg said when he swallowed the hoss-fly."

"There ain't any Todd Ward Brackett goin' to stop in _my_ tavern,"
announced the Cap'n with decision. Mr. Brackett overheard and
whirled to stare at them with mild amazement. "That's what I said,"
insisted Cap'n Sproul, returning the stare. "Ferd Parrott ain't
runnin' this tavern any longer. We're runnin' it, and you nor none
of your stripe can stop here." He reflected with sudden comfort that
there was at least one advantage in owning a hotel. It gave a man
a chance at his foes.

"You're _runnin'_ it, be you?" inquired Mr. Brackett, r