terrible wretches those Kickapoos ! - we are playing _whist_, if
you please, Mr. Tattle - however, this is the age of invention, most
certainly _the_ age, one may say - _the_ age _par excellence_ -
speak French ? - oh, quite a hero - perfect desperado ! - _no
hearts_, Mr. Tattle ? I don't believe it ! - immortal renown and
all that ! - prodigies of valor ! _Never heard !!_ - why, bless
me, he's the man" ---
"Mann ? - _Captain_ Mann ?" here screamed some little feminine
interloper from the farthest corner of the room. "Are you talking
about Captain Mann and the duel ? - oh, I _must_ hear - do tell -
go on, Mrs. O'Trump ! - do now go on !" And go on Mrs. O'Trump did
- all about a certain Captain Mann, who was either shot or hung, or
should have been both shot and hung. Yes ! Mrs. O'Trump, she went
on, and I - I went off. There was no chance of hearing anything
farther that evening in regard to Brevet Brigadier General John A. B.
C. Smith.
Still I consoled myself with the reflection that the tide of ill
luck would not run against me forever, and so determined to make a
bold push for information at the rout of that bewitching little
angel, the graceful Mrs. Pirouette.
"Smith ?" said Mrs. P., as we twirled about together in a _pas de
zephyr_, "Smith ? - why, not General John A. B. C. ? Dreadful
business that of the Bugaboos, wasn't it ? - dreadful creatures,
those Indians ! - _do_ turn out your toes ! I really am ashamed
of you - man of great courage, poor fellow ! - but this is a
wonderful age for invention - O dear me, I'm out of breath - quite a
desperado - prodigies of valor - _never heard !!_ - can't believe it
- I shall have to sit down and enlighten you - Smith ! why, he's
the man" ---
"Man-_Fred_, I tell you !" here bawled out Miss Bas-Bleu, as I
led Mrs. Pirouette to a seat. "Did ever anybody hear the like ?
It's Man-_Fred_, I say, and not at all by any means Man-_Friday_."
Here Miss Bas-Bleu beckoned to me in a very peremptory manner ; and I
was obliged, will I nill I, to leave Mrs. P. for the purpose of
deciding a dispute touching the title of a certain poetical drama of
Lord Byron's. Although I pronounced, with great promptness, that the
true title was Man-_Friday_, and not by any means Man-_Fred_, yet
when I returned to seek Mrs. Pirouette she was not to be discovered,
and I made my retreat from the house in a very bitter spirit of
animosity against the whole race of the Bas-Bleus.
Matters had now assumed a really serious aspect, and I resolved
to call at once upon my particular friend, Mr. Theodore Sinivate ;
for I knew that here at least I should get something like definite
information.
"Smith ?" said he, in his well-known peculiar way of drawling out
his syllables ; "Smith ? - why, not General John A. B. C. ? Savage
affair that with the Kickapo-o-o-os, wasn't it ? Say ! don't you
think so ? - perfect despera-a-ado - great pity, 'pon my honor !
- wonderfully inventive age ! - pro-o-odigies of valor ! By the
by, did you ever hear about Captain Ma-a-a-a-n ?"
"Captain Mann be d--d !" said I ; "please to go on with your
story."
"Hem ! - oh well ! - quite _la même cho-o-ose_, as we say in
France. Smith, eh ? Brigadier-General John A. B. C. ? I say" -
[here Mr. S. thought proper to put his finger to the side of his
nose] - "I say, you don't mean to insinuate now, really and truly,
and conscientiously, that you don't know all about that affair of
Smith's, as well as I do, eh ? Smith ? John A-B-C. ? Why, bless
me, he's the ma-a-an" ---
"_Mr_. Sinivate," said I, imploringly, "_is_ he the man in the
mask ?"
"No-o-o !" said he, looking wise, "nor the man in the mo-o-on."
This reply I considered a pointed and positive insult, and so
left the house at once in high dudgeon, with a firm resolve to call
my friend, Mr. Sinivate, to a speedy account for his ungentlemanly
conduct and ill-breeding.
In the meantime, however, I had no notion of being thwarted
touching the information I desired. There was one resource left me
yet. I would go to the fountain-head. I would call forthwith upon
the General himself, and demand, in explicit terms, a solution of
this abominable piece of mystery. Here, at least, there should be no
chance for equivocation. I would be plain, positive, peremptory - as
short as pie-crust - as concise as Tacitus or Montesquieu.
It was early when I called, and the General was dressing; but I
pleaded urgent business, and was shown at once into his bed-room by
an old negro valet, who remained in attendance during my visit. As I
entered the chamber, I looked about, of course, for the occupant,
but did not immediately perceive him. There was a large and
exceedingly odd-looking bundle of something which lay close by my
feet on the floor, and, as I was not in the best humor in the world,
I gave it a kick out of the way.
"Hem ! ahem ! rather civil that, I should say !" said the
bundle, in one of the smallest, and altogether the funniest little
voices, between a squeak and a whistle, that I ever heard in all the
days of my existence.
"Ahem ! rather civil that, I should observe."
I fairly shouted with terror, and made off, at a tangent, into
the farthest extremity of the room.
"God bless me ! my dear fellow," here again whistled the
bundle, "what - what - what - why, what _is_ the matter ? I really
believe you don't know me at all."
What _could_ I say to all this - what _could_ I ? I staggered
into an arm-chair, and, with staring eyes and open mouth, awaited the
solution of the wonder.
"Strange you shouldn't know me though, isn't it ?" presently
re-squeaked the nondescript, which I now perceived was performing,
upon the floor, some inexplicable evolution, very analogous to the
drawing on of a stocking. There was only a single leg, however,
apparent.
"Strange you shouldn't know me, though, isn't it ? Pompey, bring
me that leg !" Here Pompey handed the bundle, a very capital cork
leg, already dressed, which it screwed on in a trice ; and then it
stood up before my eyes.
"And a bloody action it _was_," continued the thing, as if in a
soliloquy ; "but then one mustn't fight with the Bugaboos and
Kickapoos, and think of coming off with a mere scratch. Pompey, I'll
thank you now for that arm. Thomas" [turning to me] "is decidedly
the best hand at a cork leg ; but if you should ever want an arm, my
dear fellow, you must really let me recommend you to Bishop." Here
Pompey screwed on an arm.
"We had rather hot work of it, that you may say. Now, you dog,
slip on my shoulders and bosom ! Pettitt makes the best shoulders,
but for a bosom you will have to go to Ducrow."
"Bosom !" said I.
"Pompey, will you _never_ be ready with that wig ? Scalping is
a rough process after all ; but then you can procure such a capital
scratch at De L'Orme's."
"S
cratch !"
"Now, you nigger, my teeth ! For a _good_ set of these you had
better go to Parmly's at once ; high prices, but excellent work. I
swallowed some very capital articles, though, when the big Bugaboo
rammed me down with the butt end of his rifle."
"Butt end ! ram down !! my eye !!"
"O yes, by-the-by, my eye - here, Pompey, you scamp, screw it in
! Those Kickapoos are not so very slow at a gouge ; but he's a
belied man, that Dr. Williams, after all ; you can't imagine how well
I see with the eyes of his make."
I now began very clearly to perceive that the object before me
was nothing more nor less than my new acquaintance, Brevet Brigadier
General John A. B. C. Smith. The manipulations of Pompey had made, I
must confess, a very striking difference in the appearance of the
personal man. The voice, however, still puzzled me no little ; but
even this apparent mystery was speedily cleared up.
"Pompey, you black rascal," squeaked the General, "I really do
believe you would let me go out without my palate."
Hereupon, the negro, grumbling out an apology, went up to his
master, opened his mouth with the knowing air of a horse-jockey, and
adjusted therein a somewhat singular-looking machine, in a very
dexterous manner, that I could not altogether comprehend. The
alteration, however, in the entire expression of the General's
countenance was instantaneous and surprising. When he again spoke,
his voice had resumed all that rich melody and strength which I had
noticed upon our original introduction.
"D--n the vagabonds !" said he, in so clear a tone that I
positively started at the change, "D--n the vagabonds ! they not
only knocked in the roof of my mouth, but took the trouble to cut off
at least seven-eighths of my tongue. There isn't Bonfanti's equal,
however, in America, for really good articles of this description. I
can recommend you to him with confidence," [here the General bowed,]
" and assure you that I have the greatest pleasure in so doing."
I acknowledged his kindness in my best manner, and took leave of
him at once, with a perfect understanding of the true state of
affairs - with a full comprehension of the mystery which had troubled
me so long. It was evident. It was a clear case. Brevet Brigadier
General John A. B. C. Smith was the man --- was _the man that was
used up_.
~~~ End of Text ~~~
======
THE BUSINESS MAN
Method is the soul of business. -- OLD SAYING.
I AM a business man. I am a methodical man. Method is the thing,
after all. But there are no people I more heartily despise than your
eccentric fools who prate about method without understanding it;
attending strictly to its letter, and violating its spirit. These
fellows are always doing the most out-of-the-way things in what they
call an orderly manner. Now here, I conceive, is a positive paradox.
True method appertains to the ordinary and the obvious alone, and
cannot be applied to the outre. What definite idea can a body attach
to such expressions as "methodical Jack o' Dandy," or "a systematical
Will o' the Wisp"?
My notions upon this head might not have been so clear as they are,
but for a fortunate accident which happened to me when I was a very
little boy. A good-hearted old Irish nurse (whom I shall not forget
in my will) took me up one day by the heels, when I was making more
noise than was necessary, and swinging me round two or knocked my
head into a cocked hat against the bedpost. This, I say, decided my
fate, and made my fortune. A bump arose at once on my sinciput, and
turned out to be as pretty an organ of order as one shall see on a
summer's day. Hence that positive appetite for system and regularity
which has made me the distinguished man of business that I am.
If there is any thing on earth I hate, it is a genius. Your geniuses
are all arrant asses -- the greater the genius the greater the ass --
and to this rule there is no exception whatever. Especially, you
cannot make a man of business out of a genius, any more than money
out of a Jew, or the best nutmegs out of pine-knots. The creatures
are always going off at a tangent into some fantastic employment, or
ridiculous speculation, entirely at variance with the "fitness of
things," and having no business whatever to be considered as a
business at all. Thus you may tell these characters immediately by
the nature of their occupations. If you ever perceive a man setting
up as a merchant or a manufacturer, or going into the cotton or
tobacco trade, or any of those eccentric pursuits; or getting to be a
drygoods dealer, or soap-boiler, or something of that kind; or
pretending to be a lawyer, or a blacksmith, or a physician -- any
thing out of the usual way -- you may set him down at once as a
genius, and then, according to the rule-of-three, he's an ass.
Now I am not in any respect a genius, but a regular business man. My
Day-book and Ledger will evince this in a minute. They are well kept,
though I say it myself; and, in my general habits of accuracy and
punctuality, I am not to be beat by a clock. Moreover, my occupations
have been always made to chime in with the ordinary habitudes of my
fellowmen. Not that I feel the least indebted, upon this score, to my
exceedingly weak-minded parents, who, beyond doubt, would have made
an arrant genius of me at last, if my guardian angel had not come, in
good time, to the rescue. In biography the truth is every thing, and
in autobiography it is especially so -- yet I scarcely hope to be
believed when I state, however solemnly, that my poor father put me,
when I was about fifteen years of age, into the counting-house of
what be termed "a respectable hardware and commission merchant doing
a capital bit of business!" A capital bit of fiddlestick! However,
the consequence of this folly was, that in two or three days, I had
to be sent home to my button-headed family in a high state of fever,
and with a most violent and dangerous pain in the sinciput, all
Poe, Edgar Allen - The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe Page 136