“‘He would have done right, Sir, if he had done that,’ said Abednego, ‘and the right thing is always approved of in the eend, and always esteemed all through the piece. A dash, as a stroke of policy,’ said he, ‘has sometimes a good effect. General Jackson threatening France with a war, if they didn’t pay the indemnity, when he knew the King would make ‘em pay it whether or no, was a masterpiece; and General Cass tellin’ France if she signed the right of sarch treaty, we would fight both her and England together single-handed, was the best move on the political chess-board, this century. All these, Sir, are very well in their way, to produce an effect; but there’s a better policy nor all that, a far better policy, and one, too, that some of our States and legislators, and presidents, and Socdolagers, as you call ‘em, in my mind have got to larn yet, Sam.’
“‘What’s that?’ sais I. “For I don’t believe in my soul there is nothin’ a’most our diplomaters don’t know. They are a body o’ men that does honour to our great nation. What policy are you a indicatin’ of?’
“‘Why,’ sais he, ‘that honesty is the best policy.’
“When I heerd him say that, I springs right up on eend, like a rope dancer. ‘Give me your hand, Abednego,’ sais I; ‘you are a man, every inch of you,’ and I squeezed it so hard, it made his eyes water. ‘I always knowed you had an excellent head-piece,’ sais I, ‘and now I see the heart is in the right place too. If you have thrown preachin’ overboard, you have kept your morals for ballast, any how. I feel kinder proud of you; you are jist a fit representative for our great nation. You are a Socdolager, that’s a fact. I approbate your notion; it’s as correct as a bootjack. For nations or individuals, it’s all the same, honesty is the best policy, and no mistake. That,’ sais I, ‘is the hill, Abednego, for Hope to pitch her tent on, and no mistake,’ and I put my finger to my nose, and winked.
“‘Well,’ sais he, ‘it is; but you are a droll feller, Slick, there is no standin’ your jokes. I’ll give you leave to larf if you like, but you must give me leave to win if I can. Good bye. But mind, Sam, our dignity is at stake. Let’s have no more of Socdolagers, or Preachin’, or Clockmakin’, or Hope pitchin’ her tent. A word to the wise. Good bye.’
“Yes,” said Mr. Slick, “I rather like Abednego’s talk myself. I kinder think that it will be respectable to be Attache to such a man as that. But he is goin’ out of town for some time, is the Socdolager. There is an agricultural dinner, where he has to make a conciliation speech; and a scientific association, where there is a piece of delicate brag and a bit of soft sawder to do, and then there are visits to the nobility, peep at manufactures, and all that sort of work, so he won’t be in town for a good spell, and until then, I can’t go to Court, for he is to introduce me himself. Pity that, but then it’ll give me lots o’ time to study human natur, that is, if there is any of it left here, for I have some doubts about that. Yes, he is an able lead horse, is Abednego; he is a’most a grand preacher, a good poet, a first chop orator, a great diplomater, and a top sawyer of a man, in short—he is a Socdolager.”
CHAPTER XV. DINING OUT.
My visit to Germany was protracted beyond the period I had originally designed; and, during my absence, Mr. Slick had been constantly in company, either “dining out” daily, when in town, or visiting from one house to another in the country.
I found him in great spirits. He assured me he had many capital stories to tell me, and that he rather guessed he knew as much of the English, and a leetle, jist a leetle, grain more, p’raps, than they knew of the Yankees.