A bright canary waistcoat of imported kerseymere, with vast
mother-of-pearl buttons, and a broad-skirted coat of bright blue cloth,
with glittering brass buttons half the size of dollars, covered his
upper man, while loose drab trousers of stout double-milled, and a pair
of well-blacked boots, completed his attire; so that he looked as
different an animal as possible, from the unwashed, uncombed, half-naked
creature he presented, when lounging in his bar-room in his every-day
apparel.
"Why, halloa, Guts!" cried Archer, as he entered, "you've broken out
here in a new place altogether."
"Now quit, you, callin' of me Guts," responded Tom, more testily than I
had ever heard him speak to Harry, whose every whim and frolic he seemed
religiously to venerate and humor; "a fellow doesn't want to have it
'Guts' here, and 'Guts' there, over half a county. Why, now, it was but
a week since, while 'lections was a goin' on, I got a letter from some
d--d chaps to Newburg--`Rouse about now, old Guts, you'll need it this
election?'"
"Ha! ha! ha!" shouted Harry and I almost simultaneously, delighted at
Tom's evident annoyance.
"Who wrote it, Tom?"
"That's what I'd jist give fifty dollars to know now," replied mine
host, clinching his mighty paw.
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