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“O, yes, sir!” says the servant.

“Well, fetch it in.”

“Two bottles, sir?”

“Two ganders! No, bring in six bottles!–I can go two on ’em myself,” says the country gent.

The servant delivered his message at the bar, and after a few grimaces and whispering, the servant and one of the bar-keepers, or clerks, carried up the wine. Says the clerk, whispering to Smith, whom he slightly knew:

“Smith, do you know the price of this wine?”

“Certainly I do,” says Smith; “here it’s invoiced on the catalogue, ain’t it?”

“O, very well,” says the clerk, about to withdraw.

“Hold on!” says one of the merry country gents, “don’t snake your handsome countenance off so quick; do yer want us to fork rite up fur these drinks?” hauling out his wallet.

“No, yer don’t,” says another, hauling out his change.

“My treat, if you please, boys,” says the third, pulling out a handful of small change. “I asked the party in, an’ I pay for what licker we drink–be thunder!”

In the midst of their enthusiasm, the clerk observed it was of no importance just then–the bill would be presented when they got through. This was satisfactory, and the party went on finishing their wine, smoking, etc.

“S’pose we have some rale sham-paigne, boys?” says one of the gents, beginning to feel his oats, some!

“Agreed!” says the rest. Two bottles of the best ” sham ” in “the tavern” were called for, and which the party drank with great gusto.

“Now,” says one of them, “let’s go to the the-ater, or some other place where there’s a show goin’ on. Here, you, mister,”–to the servant,–“go fetch in the landlord.”

“The landlord, sur?” says Pat, the servant, in some doubts as to the meaning of the phrase.

“Ay, landlord–or that chap that was in here just now; tell him to fetch in the bill. Ah, here you are, old feller; well, what’s the damages?” asks the gent, so ambitious of putting the party through, and hauling out a handful of keys, silver and coppers, to do it with.

“Eight bottles of that old flim-flam-di-rip-rap,” pronouncing one of those fancy gamboge titles found upon an Astor House catalogue, ” ninety-six dollars– “

“What?” gasped the country gent, gathering up his small change, that he had began to sort out on the table.

“And two bottles of ‘Shreider,’ and cigars–seven dollars,” coolly continued the bar-clerk; “one hundred and three dollars.”

” A hundred and three thunder– “

“A HUNDRED AND THREE DOLLARS!” cried the country gents, in one breath, all starting to their feet, and putting on their hats.

The clerk explained it, clear as mud; the trio “spudged up” the amount, looked very sober, and walked out.

“Come, boys,” said Smith, “let’s go to the theatre.”

“Guess not,” says “the boys.” “B’lieve we’ll go home for to-night, Mr. Smith.” And they made for their lodgings.

If those country gents were asked, when they got home, any particulars about the “elephant,” they’d probably hint something about getting a glimpse of him at the Astor House.