James followed Doctor Gordon into what was evidently the state parlor of the hotel.  There was haircloth furniture, and a mahogany table, with various stains of conviviality upon its polished surface.  There was a fire on the hearth, and on the mantel stood some gilded vases and a glass case of wax-flowers, also a stuffed canary under a glass shade, pathetic on his little twig.  Doctor Gordon pointed to the flowers and the canary.  “Poor old man lost his wife, when he had been married two years,” he said.  “She and the baby both died.  That was before I came here.  Damned if I wouldn’t have pulled them through.  That was her bird, and she made those fool flowers, poor little thing.  I suppose if the hotel were to take fire Georgie K. would go for them before all the cash in the till.”

“He hasn’t married again?”

“Married again!  It’s my belief he’d shoot the man that mentioned it.”

Then Georgie K. entered, his rosy face distended with a smile of the most intense hospitality, and before Doctor Gordon had a chance to introduce James, he said, “What’ll you take, gentlemen?”

“This is my new assistant, from Gresham, Doctor Elliot,” said Gordon.  Georgie K. made a bow, and scraped his foot at the same time with a curiously boyish gesture.  “What’ll you take?” he asked again.  That was evidently his formula of hospitality, which must never be delayed.

“Apple-jack,” responded Doctor Gordon promptly.  “You had better take apple-jack too, young man.  Georgie K. has gin that beats the record, and peach brandy, but when it comes to his apple-jack—­it’s worth the whole State of New Jersey.”

“All right,” answered James.

Soon he found himself seated at the stained old mahogany table with the two men, and between two glasses, a bottle, and a pitcher of hot water.  Doctor Gordon dealt a pack of dirty cards while the hotel keeper poured the apple-jack.  James could not help staring at the elder doctor with more and more amazement.  He seemed to assimilate perfectly with his surroundings.  The tormented expression had gone from his face.  He was simply convivial, and of the same sort as Georgie K. He no longer looked even a gentleman.  He had become of the soil, the New Jersey soil.  As they drank and played, he told stories, and roared with laughter at them.  The stories also belonged to the soil, they were folk lore, wild, coarse, but full of humanity.  Although Doctor Gordon drank freely of the rich mellow liquor, it did not apparently affect him.  His cheeks above his gray furze of beard became slightly flushed, that was all.

James drank rather sparingly.  The stuff seemed to him rather fiery, and he remembered the goddess in the doctor’s house.  He could imagine her look of high disdain at him should he return under the influence of liquor.  Besides, he did not particularly care for the apple-jack.

It was midnight before they left.  Georgie K. went to the door with them, and he and the doctor shook hands heartily.  “Come again,” said Georgie K., “and the sooner the better, and bring the young Doc.  We’ll make him have a good time.”