He looked around on the many faces that were turned upon him, with all the gravity and grandeur of a renowned orator. He took a large handkerchief from his pocket, pushed his hat back from his forehead, wiped his face and blowed his nose. Then, clasping his hands behind him, he again cleared his throat, and once more swept his eyes over the staring multitude.
This was too much for those whose susceptibility of titillation was not entirely drowned by the general excitement and anger, and there was an outburst of boisterous laughter at the Yankee’s expense. Some cried, “Give him air!” others, “Don’t crowd the speaker!” while a shrill, piping voice demanded:
“Why don’t he take off his hat and stand on it, so’t we can all see him?”
These and similar sallies were aimed at the luckless New-Englander, and the boys, taking it up, began to hoot at him most unmercifully, one mischievous urchin making so bold as to slip forward and pull one of his long coat-tails.
But all this did not drive Jonathan Boggs from his position. Raising one hand, he commanded, sternly:
“Silence! Hold your goll-darned tongues till you know what you are laughin’ at!”
Strange to say, these words served the purpose. The noisy ones immediately became quiet, and taking advantage of the lull, the clock-vender resumed:
“Hearken unto me, and weigh well my ejaculations. I appear before you this morning to deliver a most important address—or rayther, undress—but, ef you don’t listen, how in the name of Tabitha Simpson do you expect to hear? Look at me! Gaze on me! I’m goin’ to open your eyes with wonder, and relieve your minds of the erroneous conviction that you have hung a man through mistake. Watch my movements, ladies and gentlemen, and mark the transformation!”
Before any one could divine his intention, the Yankee had grasped his swallow-tailed coat by each lapel, and thrown it off, dropping it upon the ground! Then he made another quick movement, and off went the tall, bell-crowned hat, accompanied by a mass of tow-colored hair, and followed by several smaller “fixin’s” that completed the disguise. In less time than it takes to tell it, all that remained of Jonathan Boggs lay in a small heap on the ground!
In his place stood—who but Russell Trafford!