Judge — 1891 — page 55: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

JUDGE'S ‘THE MAN WHO INTERRUPTED. THERE was a man who was continually interrupting. He occupied a rear seat of the smail room of the debating so- ciety. He was tall and lean and old. He wore his thin gray hair long, and his thin face had a sleepy look excepting when he interrupted, when it would suddenly assume an expression of uncommon intelligence, that faded as rapidly and unexpect- edly as it came. His shoulders were composed mostly of bone; and as he leaned forward, the bet- ter to accommodate his almost fleshless hands to the handle of a green cotton umbrella, his long, lank countenance, with sunken cheeks and high cheek bones, looked as if it were grossly misplaced and might far better have been somewhere else. “Thold, Mr. President,” said one of the orators for the affirmative with argumentative persuasiveness, “that if Logan had been fairly treated he would not have been called upon to make that pathetic speech, as the last of his race, which it appears is nevertheless destined to echo down the cor- ridors "—— This man opened his mouth at that crisis of the speaker's effort, disclosing two yellow and particu- larly long front teeth, and, pausing merely to eject some juice of tobacco, cried out with a shrill voice, which appeared to have previously been located in the roof.of his mouth, “ Hooray for Jackson!” The speaker was paralyzed and the audience felt a chill; but there was no disposition to question the propriety of the sug- gestion, and the man retained his position just as if he hadn't said anything at all. “Tam aware,” said a debater on the negative side, “that the reputation of the late Mr. Logan as a martyr is very great. He was doubtless a good Indian as Indians go. The question does not relate, however, to the character of Mr, Logan. We will go back to the original proposition. Has the Indian a right to the land "—— At this juncture the man described drew his coat more closely about his spare form, nervously replaced within the proper in- terstice a button that had detached itself from the same, spit as before, blazed momentarily at the eyes, exclaimed, “ Hoorah for Thomas Jefferson!” and resumed his stolidity, permitting him- self not so much as a look of gratification because of his triumph of free speech. It was some time before the assemblage resumed its wonted attentiveness. The audience was puzzled and the speakers were embarrassed. “I wonder,” said one person with a look of horror in his face, to a companion speechless with surprise, “if he is going to do it again?” But finally the second orator for the affirmative began to speak, and after several wary looks at the impassive and unbidden spectator, and a cautious statement to the effect that he trusted there would be no interruptions, grad- ually warmed to his work. “And what,” he remarked, “of Tecumseh? What of that warrior of warriors the manner of AT THE START, “Go slower, Theodore; I’m so frightened’ * ANNUAL. . IRS ’ EARLY CURIOSITY. AARONSON (trying to amuse his young- *Vervinkel, Tervinkel, liddle shdar, How I vonder’s vat you are, Like a diamont in der shky "—— Asey—"* Vere is dot timond, fader?” whose death is not positively known to this day? who killed "—— The man had seemed to be asleep, but it was a hollow subter- fuge with intent to deceive. Suddenly rising, he paused to spit, disclosing as before the frail remnants of a once populous mouth, swung his green cotton umbrella wildly about his venerable head, and shricked shrilly, in a voice tremulous with age, “Hooray for Samuel J. Tilden!” Having done this, he resumed his seat, prepared to listen as well as his enthusiastic nature would permit to the remainder of the debate, But the orators said one to another, “We cannot go on, These interruptions are intolerable. We find ourselves waiting for them. They destroy all of our fine points. They are not even remotely connected with the subject. The man who inter- rupts must be put out.” They put him out. “Old man,” they said, as he patiently turned his face to the outer darkness, “are you the bull of Bashan, or Daniel in the lion's den, or a late importation in swathes from the country of the Pharaohs? Or has there been a resurrection and did you come from one of our local graves?” He only turned and went deep into the darkness; and as he disappeared, the sphinx-like sobriety of his countenance pre- served tc the uttermost lineament as they last looked therein, there came back to them in fragments on the sighing winds the words, in shrill tones, “ Hooray—fer—James—Bookanin!” “Merciful heaven!” exclaimed they, one to another, “it must have been the Veteran Observer.” My friends, AT THE FINISH. “Quicker, Theodore; quicker! Oh, I could die skatin, comicbooks.com