“You swear off the account, you infernal rascal—you swear off the account, do you?”
“All de credit is fair, ole massa,” answered Tony.
“Yes, but”—said the disappointed captain—“but—but,”—still the captain was sorely puzzled how to give Tony a few licks anyhow; “but——” An idea popped into his head.
“Where’s my costs, you incorrigible, abominable scoundrel? You want to swindle me, do you, out of my costs, you black deceitful rascal? And,” added Captain Stick, chuckling as well at his own ingenuity as the perfect justice of the sentence, “I enter judgment against you for costs—ten stripes,” and forthwith administered the stripes and satisfied the judgment. “Ki’ nigger!” said Tony, “ki’ nigger! What dis judgmen’ for coss ole massa talk ’bout. Done git off ’bout not blackin’ de boot, git off ’bout stayin’ long time at de mill, and ebery ting else, but dis judgmen’ for coss gim me de debbil. Bress God, nigger must keep out ob de ole stable, or, I’ll tell you what, dat judgmen’ for coss make e back feel mighty warm, for true!”
Johnson T. Hooper.
“ITEMS” FROM THE PRESS OF INTERIOR CALIFORNIA.
A LITTLE bit of romance has just transpired to relieve the monotony of our metropolitan life. Old Sam Choggins, whom the editor of this paper has so often publicly thrashed, has returned from Mud Springs with a young wife. He is said to be very fond of her, and the way he came to get her was this:
Some time ago we courted her, but finding she was “on the make” threw her off, after shooting her brother and two cousins. She vowed revenge, and promised to marry any man who would horsewhip us. This Sam agreed to undertake, and she married him on that promise.