The Funny Philosophers Part 37

Like one who has committed a great crime, and knows that retributive justice is in close proximity to his heels, Simon Rump fled homeward, on foot, a miserable man. The blows and the hair-pulling, of which he was the recipient, had driven the delusion from his brain, and he was conscious of his guilt, and in trembling apprehension awaited his punishment. In the house, where he had spent so many hours in days gone by, contemplating the blissful period when it would be the abode of an angel and seven sweet little cherubs, he now sat and listened with a feeling of extreme terror for the sounds which would indicate the approach of the angel aforesaid.

At length the clatter of horses' hoofs was heard, and peeping through the window, poor Rump beheld the angel ride up with a female cherub on the pillion behind her. A male cherub was mounted on the other horse. As Rump saw them in the act of dismounting, the manly fort.i.tude which he had endeavored to summon up instantly forsook him, and he seized his hat and fled with precipitation from the house through a back door. The wretched man ran with speed until he reached a wood on the outskirts of his farm, where he wandered for hours, like one who had been driven an outcast from a.s.sociation with his kind. Tired and sleepy, he at last ventured into his barn, and throwing himself on a bundle of hay, endeavored to recruit his exhausted faculties in the arms of Morpheus.

With the ruddy dawn of the day the consciousness of his misery returned. Rump rubbed his eyes and looked around. At the distance of one hundred yards from where he sat on his bundle of hay he beheld his domicile, in which dwelt an angel and seven sweet little cherubs, who had become to him the beings he most dreaded to encounter. The hour for breakfast at length arrived, and he knew that hot coffee and b.u.t.tered cakes were on the old mahogany table, and he was a miserable wretch banished from his own board. Hunger at length drove him forth, and with timidity he approached his house, ascended the steps, and attempted to open the door. It was bolted. Rump rapped.

"Who is there?" asked the angel, in shrill and abrupt tones.

"It is I," said Simon.

"Who is I?" asked the mother of the cherubs.

"Simon Rump," said the lord of the mansion.

"Simon Rump is dead. I planted a rose over that good man's grave more than a year ago. What do you want?"

"I am hungry; I want my breakfast," said Simon.

"Go around to the kitchen and eat with the cook," said the angel.

Simon Rump now knew that the angel was inexorable, and that henceforth he was a stranger at his own door. He walked away with a sad heart and obtained a breakfast at a neighbor's house. This benevolent individual endeavored to comfort the poor exile, and offered him an asylum until the wrath of the angel should be appeased. In his new abode Simon remained during the day, and at night he would wander around his own house, which he was now forbidden to enter.

One night, as he was wandering on the boundary between his farm and the estate of the Widow Wild, he heard a commotion among a herd of swine.

Rump had recently lost several porkers, and was confident that some one was now in the act of stealing a hog. He followed in the direction of the sound, and in the moonlight beheld a negro dragging, by its legs, a large animal of the porcine species to the door of his cabin. The African here threw his squealing victim on its back, and instantly plunged a large knife into its throat. Rump rushed forward, and seizing the a.s.sa.s.sin by the collar, commenced severely belaboring him with a stout hickory, at the same time indignantly denouncing him in terms of vituperation. The negro was astounded at this sudden a.s.sault on his person, and bounding about with extraordinary agility, loudly exclaimed,--

"Take care, Ma.s.sa Rump! take care, or you will hurt yourself!"

But Rump, regardless of this advice, continued his vigorous exercise until he had broken his hickory, when he exclaimed,--

"Who are you?"

"I am Sam."

"You are the infernal thief who was whipped for stealing the hen and eggs! Whose hog is that?"

"It belongs to the Widow Wild."

"I thought it was mine," said Rump. "But, no matter, you have got to go to jail. Come along!"

This predatory African was incarcerated in the jail of the county, and being unacquainted with any lawyer except the eloquent advocate who had once so ably defended him in the court of Justice Johnson and obtained for him a new trial in spite of the efforts of Piddler to prevent it, he sent for M. T. Pate, and employed him in his defense against this charge of felony.

Here, then, was an opportunity for the aspiring advocate to distinguish himself.

The eulogy p.r.o.nounced by the learned phrenologist on his intellectual developments had awakened ambitious hopes in his bosom, and Pate determined to prepare in the most elaborate manner for the defense of his sable client, and was confident of redeeming his reputation, which had been so badly damaged in his encounter with Toney Belton. It was exceedingly fortunate for him that the trial could not take place until a week subsequent to the time when he was employed as counsel. Unlike some other able advocates, he had none of that superficial but convenient talent which enables its possessors to make some of their best efforts almost impromptu. Like the bird of wisdom, he meditated much before he opened his mouth, and seldom ventured upon any public effort without having previously thrown his thoughts into the shape of a written composition, which was carefully committed to memory, to be used on the proper occasion. Had there not been an opportunity for preparation during a whole week, that portion of his speech in defense of Sam, which he succeeded in producing from the archives of his memory, would, without doubt, have been far less remarkable for its beauty and eloquence.

Demosthenes would never have been the foremost man in the Athenian forum if he had not labored a.s.siduously to correct his imperfections by going daily to the seash.o.r.e, with his vocal organ well ballasted with pebbles, and delivering his orations with the winds howling around him and the waves roaring at his feet. In imitation of so ill.u.s.trious an example, M.

T. Pate, having composed an elaborate speech in defense of the incarcerated African, daily resorted to some secluded spot, and gave utterance to his eloquence with the birds twittering their delight, and the frogs croaking their hoa.r.s.e notes of approbation.

On a certain afternoon Toney and Tom were walking in the direction of the Widow Wild's mansion, engaged in earnest conversation.

"But," said Toney, "Ida is entirely dependent on her eccentric uncle, and you have but little property."

"Ida is willing to wait until I have acquired sufficient----"

"To buy a cottage big enough to hold an angel and seven sweet little cherubs?" said Toney. "But a cottage is not all. Angels must eat, and cherubs must have bread and b.u.t.ter, and it takes money to obtain a constant supply of such articles. Love cannot live on earth without the aid of the butcher and baker."

"I will go to work at my profession and make money," said Tom.

"That you can do," said Toney; "but it takes time."

"Ida is willing to wait for ten years," said Tom. "I wish somebody would tell me where there is a gold mine."

"What would you do?" asked Toney.

"I would dig sixteen hours in each day until I had a hundred thousand dollars," said Tom.

"And so would I," said Toney; "for I want exactly one hundred thousand dollars."

"I wonder if there is not gold in our newly-acquired territory on the Pacific coast?" said Tom.

"Would you go there?" asked Toney.

"Yes," said Tom, "and stay for five years, if necessary, to get enough gold to buy a home----"

"For Ida and the cherubs?" said Toney.

"What noise is that in the wood?" exclaimed Tom.

"Two drunken men quarreling over an empty bottle," said Toney.

They now entered the wood and proceeded in the direction of the noise.

"Stop!" said Tom. "Look yonder!"

Toney looked in the direction indicated, and beheld the robust form of M. T. Pate perched upon a stump, his arms and legs in violent motion, and words rolling from his lips with amazing volubility.

"What is he doing?" said Tom, "Has he gone mad?"

"No; he is practicing oratory; it is a rehearsal," said Toney.

"How would he look if we were to go up and speak to him?" said Tom.

"Like an unfortunate dog taken in the act of a.s.sa.s.sinating a sheep,"

said Toney. "Don't let him see us. Listen! What's that he is saying?"

"Something about the Widow Wild," said Tom. "Hear that! He says she has a heart of flint."

"Calls her a harpy," said Toney.

"It's well for him the widow does not hear him," said Tom. "What's it all about?"