"No; I reckon he hain't, massa," responded the darkey, opening the largest mouth I ever saw, and displaying a set of teeth formidable enough to frighten a man just awakened from sleep, "for he's up, poundin' 'roun'; but I do say, massa, his face is juf as red as if he'd had a fit, or two uv 'em to th' same time, massa,—ugh! ugh!"
I pulled on my pants and coat, and proceeded to Mr. Rogers's room.
"My good fellow," said he, "I couldn't let you sleep any longer. That infernal name has come to my mind. My correspondent lived in Warren County somewhere,—Pinckney, I think is the name of his place, and I am sure the old clerk read his name to us to-day, but I could not recall it then."
I asked him why "in the name of St. George," he didn't take his pencil and make a note of this, and let me sleep till morning, reminding him that we could not do anything till daylight. With English stupidity, he said he didn't think so far as that, and didn't suppose I was asleep, as he was not! And back to bed I went, without even thanking him for thus disturbing me. In the morning we again repaired to the old clerk, and found at last the name of Mr. Rogers's correspondent. He was a very shrewd lawyer, so said the old clerk, and I "wormed out" of him that the fellow was rather "tricky." At this time I knew nothing of Mr. Rogers's affair with the Vermont lawyer. He was rather ashamed of that, and I never heard a word about it till my visit to England subsequently. It was arranged that I go alone out to Pinckney, about twenty-five miles west, or north-west of St. Louis, and I departed—found the lawyer; and I would like to give his full name, for reasons which will suggest themselves to the reader as he goes on, but the man is still living, I hear; has since been a member of Congress (from another State than Missouri, however), and is believed to be a very honest, upright man in his present neighborhood; and, perhaps, he has properly won the esteem he enjoys. I believe in the right and privilege of scoundrels to repent, if they are so inclined (and here let me interpolate, that, in my opinion, if society at large would recognize and respect such right and privilege, many a villain, who now preys upon communities, would lead a respectable life; and nine tenths of the poor fallen women, now "hedged in" (as that piquant and humanitary author, Miss Elizabeth Phelps, would express it), by the unforgiving spirit of the times, and confined to the low estate into which they are fallen, would abandon their unhappy mode of life, and become true and pure women again; and many of them, too, become the very best, noblest, and greatest women of the age).
Well, I found the lawyer; and such a man I never encountered before. Affable, "good-looking" in the general, but with a something so devilish about him—something indefinable—I have never met another like him, save within the last year from this writing, when I was closeted at the gubernatorial rooms with the governor of a certain Southern State,—the keenest mere politician, perhaps, now on the stage. I made my errand known at once to the lawyer, that is, I told him that I came as the emissary of his English correspondent, Mr. Rogers, and at the same time handed him a short note of introduction, which Mr. Rogers had prepared just before I started. This was a mistake; but I never suspected that I should find such a man to deal with. As he opened the note, he turned his back upon me, but a little too late, evidently, to hide an expression of triumph on his face. I instantly suspected foul play, and as instantly put myself into the mood to receive it.
"Ah, my friend Rogers has got as far as St. Louis, on his scent?" said he, turning about to me. "What does he expect?"
"The note of introduction tells you—does it not?"
"No, not exactly; Mr. Campbell" (the name I had assumed, for the reader knows, who has followed these pages, that I had been in St. Louis before, and there was a good reason now why I should not appear upon the register of the hotel by any of my old names); "but tell me what sort of a man is this Mr. Rogers. I have never seen him. I can only judge by his writing."
"Well, what do you judge by his writing?" I asked, resolved to tell him as little as need be.
"I hardly know, in fact. Is he a pretty resolute man—man of sanguinary temperament?"