However, the sights to be seen put him out of my head.  Besides the tap-room crowded with men there was a parlor in which women of fashion walked about, contrasting with the place.  They had all been to a spring to drink water; for only one spring was greatly used then; and they talked about the medicinal effects.  Some men left the stronger waters, which could be had at a glittering portcullised bar opposite the fireplace in the tap-room, to chat with these short-waisted beauties.  I saw one stately creature in a white silk ball costume, his stockings splashed to the knees with mud from the corduroy road.

But the person who distinguished himself from everybody else by some nameless attraction, was a man perhaps forty years old, who sat in a high-backed settle at a table near the fire.  He was erect and thin as a lath, long faced, square browed and pale.  His sandy hair stood up like the bristles of a brush.  Carefully dressed, with a sword at his side—­as many of the other men had—­he filled my idea of a soldier; and I was not surprised to hear his friends sitting opposite call him General Jackson.

An inkstand, a quill and some paper were placed before him, but he pushed them aside with his glass of toddy to lift one long fore-finger and emphasize his talk.  He had a resonant, impressive voice, with a manner gentle and persuasive, like a woman’s:  and he was speaking of Aaron Burr, the man whose duel had made such a noise in the newspapers.

[Illustration:  He pushed them aside with his glass of toddy to lift one long fore-finger and emphasize his talk.]

“I disagree with you, Mr. Campbell.  You are prejudiced against Mr. Burr on account of his late unfortunate affair.  Even in that case I maintain every man has a right to honor and satisfaction.  But he loves the Spanish on our southwestern borders no better than I do,—­and you know how I love the Spanish!”

The other man laughed, lounging against the table.

“You can’t believe anything ill of Aaron Burr, General.”

I might have given attention to what they were saying, since here were men from Washington, the very fountain of government, if Doctor Chantry had not made me uneasy.  He chose the table at which they were sitting and placed himself in the seat nearest the fire, with the utmost nicety about his own comfort.  He wiped his horn spectacles, and produced his own ink and quill and memorandum from a breast pocket.  I had begged the doctor to keep strict account between us, that I might pay back from my pension whatever he spent on me, and with fine spider-like characters he was proceeding to debit me with the stage fare, when another quill barred his entrance to his ink-horn.

He took off his spectacles and glared pink-eyed at the genial gentleman with sandy upright hair.

“Sir!” he cried, “that is my ink!”

General Jackson, absorbed in talk, did not notice Doctor Chantry, who half arose and shouted directly at his ear,