At Baker's the place was literally crowded with all kinds and
characters, graded from the honorable judge down to the pot-boy; a
pot-pouri of courtesy and companionship only exhibited in England on
the near approach of elections. The reader may think this strange,
but we can assure him that distinctions are strangely maintained; an
exclusive arrogance being observed in private life, while a too
frequent and general resort to bar-rooms has established plebeianism
in public. Voices were sounding at all parts of the counter, and for
as many different voices as many different mixtures were named. The
Captain received a great many introductions, and almost as many
invitations to drink; but the little man, Master George, claimed the
exclusive honor, and keeping an eye wide awake, took the advantage
of his own dimensions, and began working his way through a barricade
of bodies and elbows, until he had reached the counter. His party
followed close, at his heels. Altogether, they called for cocktails,
smashes, toddies, cobblers, juleps, and legitimates. These disposed
of, the company repaired to what is called a "box up-stairs."
Scarcely seated, Master George rang the bell with such violence that
he disjointed the cord and tassel, and gave such an alarm that three
or four darkies came poking their alarmed countenances through the
curtains at once.
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