For people who have their wives with them, it is not
difficult to provide entertainment on such an occasion.
"Bertha," said Wolfgang, "could you not entertain us
with one of your native dances?"
"Ho! slave," said Dick to Hosanna, "play upon the
virginals." And Hosanna played a lively Arab air on the
tavern piano, while the fair Bertha danced with a spirit
unusual. Was it indeed in memory of the Christmas of her
own dear home in Circassia?
All that, from "Bertha" to "Circassia," is not so.
We did not do this at all. That was all a slip of the
pen. What we did was this. John Blatchford pulled the
bell-cord till it broke (they always break in novels, and
sometimes they do in taverns). This bell-cord broke.
The sleepy boy came; and John said, "Caitiff, is there
never a barber in the house?" The frightened boy said
there was; and John bade him send him. In a minute the
barber appeared--black, as was expected--with a shining
face, and white teeth, and in shirt-sleeves, and broad
inquiry.
"Do you tell me, Caesar," said John, "that in your
country they do not wear their coats on Christmas Day?"
"Sartin, they do, sah, when they go outdoors."
"Do you tell me, Caesar," said Dick, "that they have
doors in your country?"
"Sartin, they do," said poor Caesar, flurried.
"Boy," said I, "the gentlemen are making fun of you.
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