IN STEVE MILLER’S BAR-ROOM. 68

 

Just off from the bar-room of Miller's
tavern was a little parlour, and Le Roy,
not feeling very social on that particular
evening, took his glass of liquor and news-
paper and sat apart from the rest of the
company, at a table close to the door of
this parlour, which stood ajar. He became
directly aware that the landlord was in
the next room, conversing with some one
in an undertone, and as he heard his own
name mentioned, he felt excused for listen-
ing attentively to all that was said.

“ Things don’t look as tidy around him
as they used to,” remarked the person who
was talking with Miller.

“Not by any means. I was told that
this was the case, and walked over to-day
to see for myself. Evidently he is running
down fast. I asked Phillips about him a
little while ago, and he told me that his
bill at the store was sixty dollars. In
- former times he never owed a cent.”
“He'll go to the dogs before long.”

“T presume so. Well, I shall keep my