One did not need to be warned against
the Spy (as both B. and I were warned, upon our arrival)--a single look
at that phiz was enough for anyone partially either intelligent or
sensitive. This phiz or mug had, then, squealed. Which everyone took as a
matter of course and admitted among themselves that hanging was too good
for him.
But the vast and unutterable success achieved by the _Menagerie_ was
this--Rockyfeller, shortly after, left our ill-bred society for
"_l'hopital_"; the very same "hospital" whose comforts and seclusion
Monsieur le Surveillant had so dextrously recommended to B. and myself.
Rockyfeller kept The Fighting Sheeney in his way, in order to defend him
when he went on promenade; otherwise our connection with him was
definitely severed, his new companions being Muskowitz the Cock-eyed
Millionaire, and The Belgian Song Writer--who told everyone to whom he
spoke that he was a government official ("_de la blague_" cried the
little Machine-Fixer, "_c'est un menteur!_" Adding that he knew of this
person in Belgium and that this person was a man who wrote popular
ditties). Would to Heaven we had got rid of the slave as well as the
master--but unfortunately The Fighting Sheeney couldn't afford to follow
his lord's example.
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