"Give me me coz-zin's wages, ye—ye—" but here his oration drew towards a close, for Flannigan, no longer able to recognise virtue in forbearance, opened the door and planting his own huge fist between the ogle-factories of Paddy, knocked him as stiff as a bull beef! Falling, Paddy carried away his red-faced burly coz-zin, and the twain tumbling upon the two negro women who were still at the bottom of the steps, dilating, to any number of lookers-on, upon the rascality of poor Flannigan in gouging them out of their washing bill, down went the white spirits and black, all in a lump.
Here was a row! A mob gathered; "the people in that house" were denounced in all manner of ways, the negroes screamed, the Irish roared, the Dutch baker came up with a police-man to arrest Flannigan for stealing his bread! And soon the butcher arrived with another officer to seize the goods of Flash, supposed to be in the house—ready to be taken away!
Such a double and twisted uproar in Dutch, Irish, Ethiopian and natural Yankee, was terrific!
Mrs. F. fainted, the children screamed, and poor Flannigan was carried to the police office to answer half a cord of "charges," and reached home near sundown, quite exhausted, and his wallet bled for "costs," fines, &c., some $20. Poor Flannigan moved again; the house had such a "bad name," he couldn't stay in it.
The Question Settled.
"Doctor" Gumbo, who "does business" somewhere along shore, met "Prof." White,—a gemman, whose complexion is four shades darker than the famed ace of spades,—a few evenings since, in front of the Blade office, and after the usual formalities of greeting, says the doctor—
"What you tink, sah, oh dat Lobes question, what dey's makin' sich a debbil ob a talk about in de papers?"
"Well," dignifiedly answered the professor of polish-on boots, "it's my 'ticular opinion, sah, dat dat Lopes got into de wrong pew, brudder Gumbo, when he went down to Cuber for his healf!"
"Pshaw! sah, I'se talkin' about de gwynna (guano) question, I is."