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“Thus we play the fool with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in
the clouds and mock us.”

“Whose nature is so far from doing harms,
That he suspects none.”

“I do not like this fooling.”

When the sportive, unintentional tormentors of Spiffard
again met, (which was while he was at Cooke's lodgings,) they,
after receiving Allen's report, again debated whether the affair
was to be dropped or continued; and if continued, how.

The credulity of their victim had been so great, that Allen,
who was flattered by the success of his own skill, (like the
sportsman who is reconciled to the torture inflicted on the
harmless bird, by the self-applause which the proof of his unerring
aim produces,) could not yet give up what appeared to
him such a capital joke. He therefore proposed “getting up”
a plausible apology for the failure of Captain Smith.

“It was not his fault. He and his second had been on the
ground, and left it. We were too late by reason of our watches
being half an hour too slow. Thus Spiffard had not been at
the appointed place in time; and, in consequence, Captain
Smith, and his second, Mr. Beaglehole, had just cause to be
offended. Therefore, an apology or explanation must take
place, and if they require another meeting, which they must

[figure description] Page 178.[end figure description]

do, it must be given. In the mean time, Captain Smith must
go to Baltimore, and, of course, the meeting be deferred. This
will give time to keep up the joke capitally. Spiff must be
made to practise with the pistol. We will take him out—load
both my hair-triggers—and I will bet two to one, that I make
him believe that he can snuff a candle at twenty paces.”

“I don't believe he ever fired a pistol in his life,” said
Cooper. “He can't hit a barn-door at ten paces.”

“If that was the case before Captain Smith's birth,” said
Simpson, “now that you have wasted Spiffard to a skeleton,
he will not be able to hit a barn.”

“I'll give him a few lessons with the pistol,” said the little
colonel. “I trained Jack Oglevy of Magra's Pennsylvania
Regiment, so perfectly, that in three weeks practice, I had the
pleasure, as his second, to see him wing Bob Tenterton, of
Sheldon's Dragoons, and make him spin like a humming-top.”

“It will never do,” said Cooper. “Drop it.”

“And they fought with Tenterton's horse-pistols; no hair-triggers
then—”

“The thing has gone far enough.”

But Allen persisted. “Only let him try at a mark, the size
of a dollar, and I'll convince him that he has hit it, though he
shoots ever so wide.”

“By dint of argument profound.”

“No. I'll stand behind him and fire over his head. My
ball will pierce the centre; and it will be no difficult matter—
especially if we all say so—to persuade him that my shot-hole
was made by his bullet—the result of his steady aim.”

“Allen, you must have a very high opinion of your persuasive
powers.”

“Why, a man who can be persuaded that the blackguard he
bullied in the Shakspeare box, was a gentleman, may be persuaded
to any thing.”

“By those in whose words he has confidence,” slily remarked
Simpson.

“Your plan is impracticable. He will see into the trick,
and that will open his eyes to the whole affair. Besides, I
don't believe Spiff ever intended to shoot, or be shot.”

“Surely,” said Allen, “he would not have gone to meet the
man, otherwise.”

“I don't know that,” was Cooper's reply. “Spiff thinks that
truth is as powerful as lead; and that a frank explanation, and
cool reasoning, will settle any difference.”

“That may be the case now, but it was not so with us,” said

[figure description] Page 179.[end figure description]

the colonel. “When Tom Dickson, of the first Maryland
Regiment, said Jack Tomlinson—”

“But,” said Allen, “suppose his adversary's arguments
should be blows.”

“He has no fears of personal violence. Though he never
practised pistol-shooting, his boxing and fencing, as I know by
experience, are of the first quality. He can make a decided
hit, and a hard one. He is as strong and active as a Sadler's
Well's Hercules, and boxes, cudgels, and fences, like an `admirable
Crichton.' ”

“Besides,” said Simpson, “it is quite time to drop it. We
have gone too far already. If ever he should find out the
tricks we have been playing him, we may have a serious quarrel,
although no duel. He has suffered in both the spirit and
the flesh.”

“Why you don't think his lank sides and hollow cheeks are
caused by the doughty Captain Smith?” said Allen.

“What else?” was asked.

“For some time past,” said the manager, “I have had my
suspicions that there is a more formidable as well as a real
personage, the meeting with whom at home has thrown him
into the snares prepared for him abroad. Poor Spiff, I wish
I could free him from all his engagements as easily as from
this of Captain Smith.”

“I'll tell you what, my masters,” said Hilson, “Spiff certainly
does look miserable, and we ought to make an end of
the hoax.”

“Well, well,” said Allen, “but don't let us break off too
abruptly. He will expect some account from me of the reason
given for the challenger's non-appearance. He has a
right to expect it. I have promised it. Therefore he must
have the explanation, as I have told you—it was owing to the
difference of the watches and all that—and this explanation I
am supposed to receive from Beaglehole.”

“You forget that you told Spiff that Beaglehole's watch was
set to yours.”

“True. I forgot that.”

“There's an old proverb on that subject.”

“You mean, that `Liars should have good memories.' If
it was not a company concern I'd challenge you for that.”

“For what? It was your conscience that said it—not I.”

“I do sometimes think that we have gone too far; but we
can't stop now. I must excuse the watch business; then I

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must not receive the excuse of Smith's second; I threaten to
post Captain Smith; Captain Smith threatens to horsewhip
Spiffard. That will do! And, then, as Captain Smith is a big
bully of a fellow, Spiff must be persuaded to buy a pair of
pocket-pistols; and I will parade him up and down Broadway;
and every now and then I can see Captain Smith waiting at a
corner, ready to put his threat into execution.”

Thus, forgetting his late qualms of conscience, the youth
delighted himself with anticipating the triumphant conclusion
of his long-protracted boy's-play.

Some of the party protested against any further prosecution
of the boyish sport; others agreed with Allen that more must
be done to prevent suspicion; and he, tracing Spiffard to
Cooke's lodgings, entered the antichamber in time to interrupt
the colloquy between our hero and his brother yankee, and to
prevent some further notions being communicated which would
have defeated the intention of Allen's visit.

As it was, some thoughts had been generated by Trustworthy
in the mind of Spiffard which were adverse to Allen's
scheme; but anything like the truth could not be imagined by
one so guileless.

Allen told Spiffard that he came to inform him of the result
of his interview with Beaglehole.

Spiffard made no reply, but looked in the face of the informant
as though he would read more than was spoken. Still
he had no suspicion of deliberate falsehood. He was obliged
to view the faces of those with whom he conversed, from that
point which portrait-painters prefer. He looked up to the
face of Allen, and saw nothing but manly beauty. He saw
nothing dishonest in the half-opened lips, disclosing their even
and white indwellers; or in the quiet grey eyes, surmounted
by lofty arched brows that never had been bent by care. All
was as fair as the herculean youth's complexion. The scrutinising
look was continued from absence of mind. Spiffard
was thinking of something else after the first glance.

Allen blushed.

The supposed conversation was recited nearly as we have
given it in anticipation; concluding with Captain Smith's
threat of personal chastisement.

“I do not fear the arm of any man.”

“He is a stout muscular fellow,” said Allen.

“You have seen him, then?”

This was a thrust not to be parried. Another of those

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falsehoods which men of honour can tell under the paltry shelter of
“it's a joke,” must be resorted to. One lie begets another.
A falsehood cannot stand alone. To hesitate would not have
comported with the acknowledged reputation of Allen in the
art of quizzing, and he boldly answered, “I saw a very stout,
athletic, nautical-looking man, part from Beaglehole as I approached
him.”

This (although pure fiction) was spoken with such an undaunted
air of confidence, and so much in the manner and
tone of truth, that joined to the probability (all the preceding
circumstances being believed as undoubted facts) that Spiffard's
incipient wavering doubts—if he had any—were dispersed.

“I do not fear the arm of any man,” he quietly repeated.

“But to receive a blow!”

“I can arrest a blow.”

“But from a horse-whip?”

“I trust my activity, skill, and strength, to wrest such weapon
from the hand of an antagonist.”

“But the scandal of such a contest in the streets?”

“I do not seek it.”

“If you carried pistols, you might, by presenting one on his
approach, prevent an altack; and if assailed, you would be justified
in shooting him.”

“I think not. I will not shed blood. I have never intended
it.”

“But self-defence.”

“I can defend myself.”

“The probability is, that by merely showing a pistol, bloodshed
will be prevented; for if you undergo his chastisement
you will challenge him; I shall insist on that. You must
have satisfaction, otherwise you cannot look your friends in
the face.”

“I shall not do wrong for fear—even of my friends. You
must act as you please.”

“It is you that must act. These fellows must not boast
that you have kept yourself out of their way through fear. I
have been to Bonfanti's and purchased a pair of little bulldogs.
We will walk Broadway to show the bullies that we
are not to be frightened into hiding-places by blustering. You
had better take the pistols.”

“No, sir. I am going into Broadway as soon as I have
seen Mr. Cooke.”

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He went into the old gentleman's chamber, and Allen followed.
Spiffard, having determined to visit Mr. Littlejohn,
made his stay very short with his sick friend; and, passing
through Wall-street, he took his way up Broadway, accompanied
by Allen. Mr. Littlejohn's residence being in the lower
part of Courtlandt-street, the young man proceeded thither.
Some of the conspirators followed, thinking that Allen had succeeded
in his plan, while Spiffard was almost unconscious of
his presence. Allen at times thought he saw in the countenance
of his pupil, that anxiety he wished to see; and then,
again, was puzzled by the abstracted air of the unhappy man,
whose friend he really was, notwithstanding this worse than
boy's-play. But little did he think whence arose that abstraction.
In this state of bewilderment, they passed the
house of Mr. Littlejohn unnoticed, and the absent-man was
roused by the voice of Allen, hitherto unattended to: “There
he is!”

“What do you mean?”

And looking up he perceived the ferry-boat just pushing off
for Paulus Hook.

“There he is!” cried Allen again.

“What and whom do you mean?”

“I mean Captain Smith. There he goes!” pointing to
the ferry-boat. “That's the man. There he goes, the cowardly
braggart.”

Spiffard, more fully aroused from his revery, asked quietly,
“Which is he?”

“That fellow in the watch-coat with an enormous horse-whip
in his hand. The fellow with three capes to his overcoat,
and a whip which he had not courage to use. Do you
see him?”

“I see a man with a great-coat and horse-whip.”

“That's the fellow I saw with Beaglehole. His second
has not been able to keep him up to the mark. Would you
have known him?”

“No.”

“That's the man, depend upon it.”

Spiffard doubted not that he had seen Captain Smith; but
he thought little of it, and turned to retrace his way to Mr.
Littlejohn's. He was somewhat surprised to see several of the
usual club or knot, near the wharf. Allen joined them, pointing
to the boat, and he heard the name of Captain Smith as he
passed. He heard a laugh—he thought of Davenport. It was

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dismissed in a moment. He left his friends to laugh at
his credulity, and wearied by long watching, anxiety, and
forebodings of evil, he sought and found a counsellor in his
friend the merchant; a friend whom he ought to have consulted
before his affairs had arrived at this fearful crisis.

p089-405

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