Beadle's Dime Novels, No. 11 — page 113: what you’re looking at

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

ANOTHER DOSE FOR THE DON. 1il “ Shall I ring for my servant to show you the way out?” queried the Cuban don, languidly. | “Ring for what, you puppy you!” thundered the old man, in tones that drove both the general and the don some paces backward; “ring for your niggers to show me out? If you dared do it, I'd pitch them and you out of the window,” and his great muscles and strong chest quivered for the action, as he threw his arms out. “You'd look well ringing for your seryants to show me the way over my own land. The ground these premises stand on (he stamped with his foot) is mine, every inch of it; and you and your niggers, all sold, together, wouldn’t bring what it’s worth tome. You had better take care how you insult a man who is king on his own soil. I came here peacably, to ask you a civil question, which you haven't attempted—no, nor hayen’t dared to answer, yet.” “Come, we want none of your pretensions,” exclaimed the don, ssuntering a little as if elegantly indifferent. “We are accustomed to the privacy of our own apartment; and, in Cuba, between gentlemen, the sword would haye settled any question of this kind before now, if such words had been em- i ag You put me under the necessity of ringing my ‘Like a lion with glaring eyes, the old farmer (who had prob- ably never heard a dislespectful word uttered in his presence), stood for one moment, his brow flaming, his lips looked like iron, his chest Be mathe it seemed almost without moy- ing—he gave onggJunge, and sent the don off his slippered feet, nearly the length of the room ; and, before a word could be said, or a motion made, the farmer was outside the door. None would have suspected, to sce him nearing his own home, that he had stirred a muscle, or drawn a deeper breath than usual, since he left it an hour before. He felt as if ho had done his duty; and, unconsciously, the blow was for his son, whose fate he now, with more certainty than ever, connected with the Cuban aristocrats. At the great stone step he was met by Jessie, who had been watching for him. “© father!” she cried, “I am glad you have come home,” “Is mother worse?” asked the farmer, standing still. “No; but there’s a gentleman in the parlor waiting for comiclbooks.com