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