In Vino Veritas.
The Vandemonian was, of course, accompanied by nine more of his pals,
all of them armed to the teeth with revolvers, swords, pikes, and knives.
Carl Wiesenhavern, a man of noble character, and, therefore a man who hates
knavery, and has no fear of a knave, answered with his peculiar
German coolness, "Here I am, what do you want?"
"Nobblers round," was the eager reply.
"If that's what you want," replied Wiesenhavern, "you shall have it
with pleasure."
"We got no money."
"I did not ask for any: understand me well, though;" pointing at each of them
with the forefinger of his clenched right hand, "you will have a nobbler
a-piece, and no more: afterwards you will go your way. Are you satisfied
with my conditions?"
"Yes, yes! we agree to that: go on you b - - ."
Wiesenhavern scorned to notice the fellow, and, according to the old custom
of the house, placed two decanters of brandy, together with the tumblers,
on the bar, saying, "Help yourselves, gentlemen."
They fell at once upon the brandy, and their mean rascality was shown
by some seizing the glass and covering it with the full hand to conceal
their greediness. Nobbler-drinking is an old colonial habit; it gives pluck
to the coward when he is 'up to something;' so happened it with these fellows.
"Well, landlord, your brandy is d - -d good - the real sort of stuff,
and no b - - y mistake. You shouted nobblers round for all hands - that's
all right; it's no more than fair and square now for the boys to shout
for you:" and, with a horrible curse, "Fill up the bottles; let's have
another round."
Wiesenhavern kept himself quiet. One of the ruffians showed his intention
to enter the bar, and play the landlord within. Wiesenhavern coolly
persuaded him back by the promise he would fetch from his room,
"something rowdy, the right old sort of stuff - Champagne Cognac, 'tres vieux'."
The fellows presumed their 'bouncing' was all the go now, and laughed
and cursed in old colonial style.
Wiesenhavern fetched his pistols, and his partner, Johan Brandt,
a double-barrelled gun. Now Mr. Brandt is one of those short,
broad-shouldered, sound, dog-headed Germans, with such a determinate look
when his otherwise slow wrath is stirred up, that it is not advisable
to tackle with his fists, and much less with his rifle. Wiesenhavern,
with that precision of manners, which always gains the point on such occasions,
placed a decanter full of brandy on the bar, and, with cocked pistols
in both hands, said, "Touch it, if you dare; if any one among you got the pluck
to put in his tumbler one drop out of that bottle there, he is a dead man;"
and Mr. Brandt backed him by simply saying:-
"I'll shoot the fellow, like a dog."
What was the result? Of course the same, whenever you deal with knaves -
and you make them understand what you mean.
