He answered in the affirmative. Mr Chollop winked at the other citizen.
‘Scadder is a smart man, sir? He is a rising man? He is a man as will come up’ards, right side up, sir?’ Mr Chollop winked again at the other citizen.
‘He should have his right side very high up, if I had my way,’ said Mark. ‘As high up as the top of a good tall gallows, perhaps.’
Mr Chollop was so delighted at the smartness of his excellent countryman having been too much for the Britisher, and at the Britisher’s resenting it, that he could contain himself no longer, and broke forth in a shout of delight. But the strangest exposition of this ruling passion was in the other—the pestilence-stricken, broken, miserable shadow of a man—who derived so much entertainment from the circumstance that he seemed to forget his own ruin in thinking of it, and laughed outright when he said ‘that Scadder was a smart man, and had draw’d a lot of British capital that way, as sure as sun-up.’
After a full enjoyment of this joke, Mr Hannibal Chollop sat smoking and improving the circle, without making any attempts either to converse or to take leave; apparently labouring under the not uncommon delusion that for a free and enlightened citizen of the United States to convert another man’s house into a spittoon for two or three hours together, was a delicate attention, full of interest and politeness, of which nobody could ever tire. At last he rose.
‘I am a-going easy,’ he observed.
Mark entreated him to take particular care of himself.
‘Afore I go,’ he said sternly, ‘I have got a leetle word to say to you. You are darnation ‘cute, you are.’
Mark thanked him for the compliment.
‘But you are much too ‘cute to last. I can’t con-ceive of any spotted Painter in the bush, as ever was so riddled through and through as you will be, I bet.’