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Updated: June 3, 2025
Derby Deblore, my other self, my Pylades, my Damon, my fidus Achades in New York; but, unless they found Derby and compelled him to testify, they could not alienate my Saccharissa. I gave her a touching glance, as Mellasys Plickaman closed his reading of my private papers.
But my heart was heavy; consequently my heels were not light. My faint attempts at pirouettes were not satisfactory. "Dance jollier, or we'll hang you," said Plickaman. "No," says Judge Pyke, "the sentence of the Court has been executed. In the sacred name of Justice I protest against proceeding farther.
We were betrothed, Saccharissa Mellasys and I. In vain did Mellasys Plickaman glower along the corridors of the Millard. I pitied him for his defeat too much to notice his attempts to pick a quarrel. Firm in the affection of my Saccharissa and in the confidence of her father, I waived the insults of the aggrieved and truculent cousin. He had lost the heiress. I had won her.
Meantime I began to perceive an odor which forcibly recalled to me the asphaltum-kettles of the lively Boulevards of Paris. "Wait awhile, Fire-Eaters," said Plickaman, "the tar isn't quite ready yet." The tar! What had that viscous and unfragrant material to do with the present interview? "I won't read you what he says of me," resumed the Colonel. "Yes, out with it!" exclaimed all.
"Bring the cotton!" now cried Mellasys Plickaman. A bag of that regal product was brought. "Roll him in it!" said Billy Sangaree. "Let the Colonel work his own tricks," Major Licklickin said. "He's an artist, he is." I must admit that he was an artist. He fabricated me an elaborate wig of the cotton. He arranged me a pair of bushy white eyebrows.
I was silent, and bore the scornful looks of my persecutors with patience and dignity. Plickaman repeated the sentence. "But hear the rest," said he, and read on: "From what you say of her tinge of African blood and other charming traits, I have constructed this portrait of the future Mrs. Bratley Chylde, as the Hottentot Venus. Behold it!"
Canaan was cursed with religious rigor on the Mellasys plantation at Bayou La Farouche. All this time Mellasys Plickaman had been my bête noir. I know nothing of politics. Were our country properly constituted, I should be in the House of Peers. The Chylde family is of sublime antiquity, and I am its head in America.
We intend to give you a fair trial; but I may as well state that we have all made up our minds as to the law, the facts, and the sentence. Therefore, prepare for justice. Colonel Plickaman, have you given directions about the tar?" "It'll be b'ilin' in about eight minutes," replied my quondam rival, with a boo-hoo of vulgar laughter.
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