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"Welcome, sir, welcome!" said Tiffles, as he observed the dollar and a quarter disappear from his mental horizon, and felt that, but for his indomitable good nature, he would like to kick C. Skimmerhorn, Esq., down stairs. And Tiffles, nobly concealing his disappointment, showed C. Skimmerhorn, Esq., and his domestic caravan to the best front seat.
Higgins, the Principal, is a tyrant, who seeks to crush the girls and trample upon them; but my sorrow is somewhat assuaged by learning that Skimmerhorn, the pianist, is perfectly splendid. Looking at these girls reminds me that I, too, was once young and where are the friends of my youth? I have found one of 'em, certainly.
Tiffles," said that person. "Wesley is my panoramic name." This disclosure caused a small sensation. "I knew the man was a humbug from the start," whispered C. Skimmerhorn, Esq., to a friend at his elbow. "I'd like to prosecute him for swindling." "And I am Mr. Patching," exclaimed the artist, presenting himself.
Tiffles bowed acknowledgment of the empty honor, and ushered the three clergymen and families to the front row of seats, of which C. Skimmerhorn, Esq., and his train, occupied as much as they could cover by spreading out. Mr.
"Oh," she said, "it's you, is it? I thought I smelt something." But the old girl was glad to see me. In the mornin' I found that my family were entertainin' a artist from Philadelphy, who was there paintin' some startlin water-falls and mountains, and I morin suspected he had a hankerin' for my oldest dauter. "Mr. Skimmerhorn, father," sed my dauter. "Glad to see you, Sir!"
This was true, as both Tiffles and Patching, anticipating some such question, had stepped over the canvas back and forth, in rolling and unrolling it, several times. "Is the eminent counsellor satisfied?" "Oh! yes," said C. Skimmerhorn, Esq., in a voice which signified that he knew the panorama was a humbug, but, unfortunately, couldn't prove it.
Tiffles recognized it at the first glance. It was one of thirty complimentary tickets that he had caused to be distributed among the leading men of the village that morning, by advice of the landlord; and it bore the name of "C. Skimmerhorn, Esq."
C. Skimmerhorn, Esq., would have retorted severely, but his attention, and that of all the crowd, was drawn, at that moment, to a citizen who came forward, and, in a state of beathless excitement, said he guessed he knew what it all meant. He was in New York that afternoon, and read, in one of the evening papers, an account of a dreadful murder committed on an old man named Minford.
Having heard, outside, of the arrest of Marcus Wilkeson, on an unknown charge, he had plucked up courage and friendship enough to reenter the hall, and tender his aid and consolation to that unhappy man. He came in just in time to hear his name called. "So that's the chap they called Chicory, or Checkerberry," whispered C. Skimmerhorn, Esq.
"The Bight or, in other words, as you may not be familiar with geography, the Bay of Benin." "Then why not say Bay, sir?" replied C. Skimmerhorn Esq., stung with the allusion to his want of geographical knowledge. "Why this mystery about terms!" There were cries of "Go it, Square." "Dry up, old boy!" "Propel with the show!" &c., &c.
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