An Outcast | Page 9

for your power. Take this girl from me, and you pay the
penalty with your life. We are equals here. Release poor Langdon from
prison, and go pay penance over the grave of his poor wife. It's the least
you can do. You ruined her--you can't deny it." Concluding, he clasps
the girl in his arms, to the surprise of all present, and rushes with her
out of the house.
The house of Madame Flamingo is in a very distinguished state of
commotion. Men sensitive of their reputations, and fearing the presence
of the police, have mysteriously disappeared. Madame is in a fainting
condition, and several of her heroic damsels have gone screaming out
of the parlor, and have not been seen since.

Matters have quieted down now. Mr. Snivel consoles the judge for the
loss of dignity he has suffered, Madame did not quite faint, and there is
peace in the house.
Manfredo, his countenance sullen, brings in the wine. Manfredo is in
bad temper to-night. He uncorks the bottles and lets the wine foam over
the table, the sight of which sends Madame into a state of distress.
"This is all I gets for putting such good livery on you!" she says,
pushing him aside with great force. "That's thirty-nine for you in the
morning, well-laid on. You may prepare for it. Might have known
better (Madame modifies her voice) than buy a nigger of a clergyman!"
She commences filling the glasses herself, again addressing Manfredo,
the slave: "Don't do no good to indulge you. This is the way you pay
me for lettin' you go to church of a Sunday. Can't give a nigger religion
without his gettin' a big devil in him at the same time."
Manfredo passes the wine to her guests, in sullen silence, and they
drink to the prosperity of the house.
And now it is past midnight; the music in the next parlor has ceased, St.
Michael's clock has struck the hour of one, and business is at an end in
the house of the old hostess. A few languid-looking guests still remain,
the old hostess is weary with the fatigues of the night, and even the gas
seems to burn dimmer. The judge and Mr. Snivel are the last to take
their departure, and bid the hostess good-night. "I could not call the
fellow out," says the judge, as they wend their way into King street. "I
can only effect my purpose by getting him into my power. To do that
you must give me your assistance."
"Remain silent on that point," returns the other. "You have only to
leave its management to me. Nothing is easier than to get such a fellow
into the power of the law."
On turning into King street they encounter a small, youthful looking
man, hatless and coatless, his figure clearly defined in the shadows of
the gas-light, engaged in a desperate combat with the lamp-post. "Now,
Sir, defend yourself, and do it like a man, for you have the reputation of

being a craven coward," says the man, cutting and thrusting furiously at
the lamp-post; Snivel and Sleepyhorn pause, and look on astonished.
"Truly the poor man's mad," says Sleepyhorn, touching his companion
on the arm--"uncommonly mad for the season."
Mr. Snivel whispers, "Not so mad. Only courageously tight."
"Gentlemen!" says the man, reproachfully, "I am neither mad nor
drunk." Here he strikes an attitude of defence, cutting one, two, and
three with his small sword. "I am Mister Midshipman Button--no
madman, not a bit of it. As brave a man as South Carolina ever sent
into the world. A man of pluck, Sir, and genuine, at that." Again he
turns and makes several thrusts at the lamp-post, demanding that it
surrender and get down on its knees, in abject obedience to superior
prowess.
"Button, Button, my dear fellow, is it you? What strange freak is this?"
inquires Mr. Snivel, extending his hand, which the little energetic man
refuses to take.
"Mister Midshipman Button, if you please, gentlemen," replies the man,
with an air of offended dignity. "I'm a gentleman, a man of honor, and
what's more, a Carolinian bred and born, or born and bred--cut it as you
like it." He makes several powerful blows at the lamp-post, and
succeeds only in breaking his sword.
"Poor man," says the judge, kindly, "he is in need of friends to take
care of him, and advise him properly. He has not far to travel before he
gets into the mad-house."
The man overhears his remarks, and with a vehement gesture and
flourish of his broken sword, says, "Do you not see, gentlemen, what
work I have made of this Northern aggressor, this huge enemy bringing
oppression to our very doors?" He turns and addresses the lamp-post in