The Allen House; Or, Twenty Years Ago and Now

“Excellent. I’ve not tasted better since I left London.”

The traveler spoke blandly, as he held his cup a little way from his lips, and looked over the top of it at his host with something more than a casual glance. He was reading his face with an evident effort to gain from it, as an index, some clear impression of his character.

“My wife understands her business,” replied the flattered landlord. “There is not her equal in all the country round.”

“I can believe you, Mr. Adams. Already this delicious beverage has acted like a charmed potion. My headache has left me as if by magic.”

He set his cup down; moved his chair a little way from the table at which he was sitting, and threw a pleasant look upon the landlord.

“How long have you been in this town, Mr. Adams?” The question seemed indifferently asked; but the landlord’s ear did not fail to perceive in the tone in which it was given, a foreshadowing of much beyond.

“I was born here,” he replied.

“Ah! Then you know all the people, I imagine?”

“I know all their faces, at least.”

“And their histories and characters?”

“Perhaps.”

Something in this “perhaps,” and the tone in which it was uttered, seemed not to strike the questioner agreeably. He bent his brows a little, and looked more narrowly at the landlord.

“I did not see much of your town as I came in this evening. How large is it?”

“Middling good size, sir, for an inland town,” was the not very satisfactory answer.

“What is the population?”

“Well, I don’t know—can’t just say to a certainty.”

“Two thousand?”

“Laws! no sir! Not over one, if that.”

“About a thousand, then?”

“Maybe a thousand, and maybe not more than six or seven hundred.”

“Call it seven hundred, then,” said the traveler, evidently a little amused.

“And that will, in my view, be calling it enough.”

There was a pause. The traveler seemed in doubt as to whether he should go on with his queries.

“Not much trade here, I presume?” He asked, at length.

“Not much to boast of,” said Adams.

Another pause.

“Any well-to-do people? Gentlemen who live on their means?”

“Yes; there’s Aaron Thompson. He’s rich, I guess. But you can’t measure a snake ‘till he’s dead, as they say.”

“True,” said the traveler, seeming to fall into the landlord’s mood. “Executors often change the public estimate of a man as to this world’s goods. So, Aaron Thompson is one of your rich men?”

“Yes, and there’s Abel Reeder—a close-fisted old dog, but wealthy as a Jew, and no mistake. Then there is Captain Allen.”

A flash of interest went over the stranger’s face, which was turned at once from the light.

“Captain Allen! And what of him?” The voice was pitched to a lower tone; but there was no appearance of special curiosity.

“A great deal of him.” The landlord put on a knowing look.

“Is he a sea captain?”

“Yes;” and lowering his voice, “something else besides, if we are to credit people who pretend to know.”

“Ah! but you speak in riddles, Mr. Adams. What do you mean by something more?”

“Why, the fact is, Mr. Willoughby, they do say, that he got his money in a backhanded sort of fashion.”

“By gambling?”

“No, sir! By piracy!”

Col. Willoughby gave a real or affected start.

“A grave charge that, sir.” He looked steadily at the landlord. “And one that should not be lightly made.”

“I only report the common talk.”

“If such talk should reach the ears of Captain Allen?” suggested the stranger.

“No great likelihood of its doing so, for I reckon there’s no man in S–bold enough to say ‘pirate’ to his face.”

“What kind of a man is he?”

“A bad specimen in every way.”

“He’s no favorite of yours, I see?”

“I have no personal cause of dislike. We never had many words together,” said the landlord. “But he’s a man that you want to get as far away from as possible. There are men, you know, who kind of draw you towards them, as if they were made of loadstone; and others that seem to push you off. Captain Allen is one of the latter kind.”

“What sort of a looking man is he?”

“Short; thick-set; heavily built, as to body. A full, coarse face; dark leathery skin; and eyes that are a match for the Evil One’s. There is a deep scar across his left forehead, running past the outer corner of his eye, and ending against the cheek bone. The lower lid of this eye is drawn down, and the inside turned out, showing its deep red lining. There is another scar on his chin. Two fingers are gone from his left hand, and his right hand has suffered violence.”