Like one who has committed a great crime, and knows that retributive
justice is in close proximity to his heels, Simon Rump fled homeward, on
foot, a miserable man. The blows and the hair-pulling, of which he was
the recipient, had driven the delusion from his brain, and he was
conscious of his guilt, and in trembling apprehension awaited his
punishment. In the house, where he had spent so many hours in days gone
by, contemplating the blissful period when it would be the abode of an
angel and seven sweet little cherubs, he now sat and listened with a
feeling of extreme terror for the sounds which would indicate the
approach of the angel aforesaid.
At length the clatter of horses' hoofs was heard, and peeping through
the window, poor Rump beheld the angel ride up with a female cherub on
the pillion behind her. A male cherub was mounted on the other horse. As
Rump saw them in the act of dismounting, the manly fortitude which he
had endeavored to summon up instantly forsook him, and he seized his hat
and fled with precipitation from the house through a back door. The
wretched man ran with speed until he reached a wood on the outskirts of
his farm, where he wandered for hours, like one who had been driven an
outcast from association with his kind. Tired and sleepy, he at last
ventured into his barn, and throwing himself on a bundle of hay,
endeavored to recruit his exhausted faculties in the arms of Morpheus.
With the ruddy dawn of the day the consciousness of his misery
returned. Rump rubbed his eyes and looked around. At the distance of one
hundred yards from where he sat on his bundle of hay he beheld his
domicile, in which dwelt an angel and seven sweet little cherubs, who
had become to him the beings he most dreaded to encounter. The hour for
breakfast at length arrived, and he knew that hot coffee and buttered
cakes were on the old mahogany table, and he was a miserable wretch
banished from his own board. Hunger at length drove him forth, and with
timidity he approached his house, ascended the steps, and attempted to
open the door. It was bolted. Rump rapped.
"Who is there?" asked the angel, in shrill and abrupt tones.
"It is I," said Simon.
"Who is I?" asked the mother of the cherubs.
"Simon Rump," said the lord of the mansion.
"Simon Rump is dead. I planted a rose over that good man's grave more
than a year ago. What do you want?"
"I am hungry; I want my breakfast," said Simon.
"Go around to the kitchen and eat with the cook," said the angel.
Simon Rump now knew that the angel was inexorable, and that henceforth
he was a stranger at his own door. He walked away with a sad heart and
obtained a breakfast at a neighbor's house. This benevolent individual
endeavored to comfort the poor exile, and offered him an asylum until
the wrath of the angel should be appeased. In his new abode Simon
remained during the day, and at night he would wander around his own
house, which he was now forbidden to enter.
One night, as he was wandering on the boundary between his farm and the
estate of the Widow Wild, he heard a commotion among a herd of swine.
Rump had recently lost several porkers, and was confident that some one
was now in the act of stealing a hog. He followed in the direction of
the sound, and in the moonlight beheld a negro dragging, by its legs, a
large animal of the porcine species to the door of his cabin. The
African here threw his squealing victim on its back, and instantly
plunged a large knife into its throat. Rump rushed forward, and seizing
the assassin by the collar, commenced severely belaboring him with a
stout hickory, at the same time indignantly denouncing him in terms of
vituperation. The negro was astounded at this sudden assault on his
person, and bounding about with extraordinary agility, loudly
exclaimed,--
"Take care, Massa Rump! take care, or you will hurt yourself!"
But Rump, regardless of this advice, continued his vigorous exercise
until he had broken his hickory, when he exclaimed,--
"Who are you?"
"I am Sam."
"You are the infernal thief who was whipped for stealing the hen and
eggs! Whose hog is that?"
"It belongs to the Widow Wild."
"I thought it was mine," said Rump. "But, no matter, you have got to go
to jail. Come along!"
This predatory African was incarcerated in the jail of the county, and
being unacquainted with any lawyer except the eloquent advocate who had
once so ably defended him in the court of Justice Johnson and obtained
for him a new trial in spite of the efforts of Piddler to prevent it, he
sent for M. T. Pate, and employed him in his defense against this charge
of felony.
Here, then, was an opportunity for the aspiring advocate to distinguish
himself.
The eulogy pronounced by the learned phrenologist on his intellectual
developments had awakened ambitious hopes in his bosom, and Pate
determined to prepare in the most elaborate manner for the defense of
his sable client, and was confident of redeeming his reputation, which
had been so badly damaged in his encounter with Toney Belton. It was
exceedingly fortunate for him that the trial could not take place until
a week subsequent to the time when he was employed as counsel. Unlike
some other able advocates, he had none of that superficial but
convenient talent which enables its possessors to make some of their
best efforts almost impromptu. Like the bird of wisdom, he meditated
much before he opened his mouth, and seldom ventured upon any public
effort without having previously thrown his thoughts into the shape of a
written composition, which was carefully committed to memory, to be used
on the proper occasion. Had there not been an opportunity for
preparation during a whole week, that portion of his speech in defense
of Sam, which he succeeded in producing from the archives of his memory,
would, without doubt, have been far less remarkable for its beauty and
eloquence.
Demosthenes would never have been the foremost man in the Athenian forum
if he had not labored assiduously to correct his imperfections by going
daily to the seashore, with his vocal organ well ballasted with pebbles,
and delivering his orations with the winds howling around him and the
waves roaring at his feet. In imitation of so illustrious an example, M.
T. Pate, having composed an elaborate speech in defense of the
incarcerated African, daily resorted to some secluded spot, and gave
utterance to his eloquence with the birds twittering their delight, and
the frogs croaking their hoarse notes of approbation.
On a certain afternoon Toney and Tom were walking in the direction of
the Widow Wild's mansion, engaged in earnest conversation.
"But," said Toney, "Ida is entirely dependent on her eccentric uncle,
and you have but little property."
"Ida is willing to wait until I have acquired sufficient----"
"To buy a cottage big enough to hold an angel and seven sweet little
cherubs?" said Toney. "But a cottage is not all. Angels must eat, and
cherubs must have bread and butter, and it takes money to obtain a
constant supply of such articles. Love cannot live on earth without the
aid of the butcher and baker."
"I will go to work at my profession and make money," said Tom.
"That you can do," said Toney; "but it takes time."
"Ida is willing to wait for ten years," said Tom. "I wish somebody would
tell me where there is a gold mine."
"What would you do?" asked Toney.
"I would dig sixteen hours in each day until I had a hundred thousand
dollars," said Tom.
"And so would I," said Toney; "for I want exactly one hundred thousand
dollars."
"I wonder if there is not gold in our newly-acquired territory on the
Pacific coast?" said Tom.
"Would you go there?" asked Toney.
"Yes," said Tom, "and stay for five years, if necessary, to get enough
gold to buy a home----"
"For Ida and the cherubs?" said Toney.
"What noise is that in the wood?" exclaimed Tom.
"Two drunken men quarreling over an empty bottle," said Toney.
They now entered the wood and proceeded in the direction of the noise.
"Stop!" said Tom. "Look yonder!"
Toney looked in the direction indicated, and beheld the robust form of
M. T. Pate perched upon a stump, his arms and legs in violent motion,
and words rolling from his lips with amazing volubility.
"What is he doing?" said Tom, "Has he gone mad?"
"No; he is practicing oratory; it is a rehearsal," said Toney.
"How would he look if we were to go up and speak to him?" said Tom.
"Like an unfortunate dog taken in the act of assassinating a sheep,"
said Toney. "Don't let him see us. Listen! What's that he is saying?"
"Something about the Widow Wild," said Tom. "Hear that! He says she has
a heart of flint."
"Calls her a harpy," said Toney.
"It's well for him the widow does not hear him," said Tom. "What's it
all about?"
"Pate's client has stolen the widow's hog, and the lawyer is getting
ready to abuse the owner of the property. Hark! What's that?"
There was a noise in the bushes, and two men sprang out with clubs in
their hands, and ran towards Pate, loudly shouting,--
"Here he is! Catch him! catch him!"
Pate looked around, and then leaped from the stump and fled through the
wood with the speed of a frightened antelope.
"Stop! stop! Halt! halt!" cried Toney and Tom.
The men halted, and coming towards them, were recognized as two laborers
employed on the Widow Wild's estate.
"What were you going to do?" asked Toney.
"Give that fellow a good beating," said one of the men.
"What has he been doing?" inquired Tom.
"He comes here every day and gets on that stump, and abuses the Widow
Wild, who is as nice a woman as a man ever worked for, and we won't
stand it! So we cut these clubs and lay in the bushes for him."
"You had better let him alone," said Toney. "He is a lawyer."
"Let him come here again!" said one of the men.
"Even if he was a priest!" said the other.
"What would you do?" asked Toney.
"Break every bone in his body!" said the man, brandishing his club. And
with this emphatic declaration of their intentions, the men returned to
their work, while Toney and Tom proceeded on their way to the residence
of the Widow Wild.