"My dear sir, you surprise me. You certainly can't expect a modest man like me to speak of himself."
"Ye can speak of what ye d— please, but ye can't talk ab'lish'n har, by—," he said, again applying his hand to the table, till the plates and saucers jumped up, performed several jigs, then several reels, and then rolled over in graceful somersaults to the floor.
At this juncture, the Colonel and Madam P—— entered.
Observing the fall in his crockery, and the general confusion of things, my host quietly asked, "What's to pay?"
I said nothing, but burst into a fit of laughter at the awkward predicament of the overseer. That gentleman also said nothing, but looked as if he would like to find vent through a rat-hole or a window-pane. Jim, however, who stood at the back of my chair, gave his eloquent thoughts utterance, very much as follows:
"Moye hab 'sulted Massa K——, Cunnel, awful bad. He hab swore a blue streak at him, and called him a d— ab'lishener, jess 'cause Massa K—— wudn't get mad and sass him back. He hab disgrace your hosspital, Cunnel, wuss dan a nigga."
The Colonel turned white with rage, and striding up to Moye, seized him by the throat, yelling, rather than speaking, these words: "You d—— —— —— —— —— —— ——, have you dared to insult a guest in my house?"
"I did'nt mean to 'sult him," faltered out the overseer, his voice running through an entire octave, and changing with the varying pressure of the Colonel's fingers on his throat; "but he said he war an ab'lishener."
"No matter what he said, he is my guest, and in my house he shall say what he pleases, by—. Apologize to him, or I'll send you to h—in a second."
The fellow turned cringingly to me, and ground out something like this, every word seeming to give him the face-ache: