I felt that I went pale, and though not naturally a bold speaker, I couldn't hardly say, "Where's Normandy?"
"Bolted—with the plate," said Mr. Chops.
"And t'other one?"—meaning him as formerly wore the bishop's miter.
"Bolted—with the jewels," said Mr. Chops.
I sat down and looked at him, and he stood up and looked at me.
"Magsman," he says, and he seemed to myself to get wiser as he got hoarser, "society, taken in the lump, is all dwarfs. At the court of Saint James they was all a doin' my bisness—all a goin' three times round the Cairawan, in the hold Court suits and properties. Elsewhere, they was most of 'em ringing their little bells out of makebelieves. Everywheres, the sarser was a goin' round—Magsman, the sarser is the universal institution!"
I perceived, you understand, that he was soured by his misfortuns, and I felt for Mr. Chops.
"As to Fat Ladies," says he, giving his Ed a tremendous one ag'in the wall, "there's lots of them in society, and worse than the original. Hers was a outrage upon taste—simply a outrage upon taste—carryin' its own punishment in the form of a Indian!"
Here he giv' himself another tremendious one.
"But theirs, Magsman, theirs is mercenary outrages. Lay in Cashmere shawls, buy bracelets, strew 'em and a lot of 'andsome fans and things about your rooms, let it be known that you give away like water to all as come to admire, and the Fat Ladies that don't exhibit for so much down upon the drum will come from all the p'ints of the compass to flock about you, whatever you are. They'll drill holes in your 'art, Magsman, like a cullender. And when you've no more left to give, they'll laugh at you to your face, and leave you to have your bones picked dry by wulturs, like the dead Wild Ass of the Prayries that you deserve to be!"