But the Koh-i-noor—­the gentleman, you remember, with a very large diamond in his shirt-front—­laughed his scornful laugh, and made as if to speak.

Sail in, Metropolis!—­said that same young man John, by name.  And then, in a lower tone, not meaning to be heard,—­Now, then, Ma’am Allen!

But he was heard,—­and the Koh-i-noor’s face turned so white with rage, that his blue-black moustache and beard looked fearful, seen against it.  He grinned with wrath, and caught at a tumbler, as if he would have thrown it or its contents at the speaker.  The young Marylander fixed his clear, steady eye upon him, and laid his hand on his arm, carelessly almost, but the Jewel found it was held so that he could not move it.  It was of no use.  The youth was his master in muscle, and in that deadly Indian hug in which men wrestle with their eyes; —­over in five seconds, but breaks one of their two backs, and is good for three-score years and ten;—­one trial enough,—­settles the whole matter,—­just as when two feathered songsters of the barnyard, game and dunghill, come together,—­after a jump or two at each other, and a few sharp kicks, there is the end of it; and it is, Apres vous, Monsieur, in all the social relations with the beaten party for all the rest of his days.

I cannot philosophically account for the Koh-i-noor’s wrath.  For though a cosmetic is sold, bearing the name of the lady to whom reference was made by the young person John, yet, as it is publicly asserted in respectable prints that this cosmetic is not a dye, I see no reason why he should have felt offended by any suggestion that he was indebted to it or its authoress.  I have no doubt that there are certain exceptional complexions to which the purple tinge, above alluded to, is natural.  Nature is fertile in variety.  I saw an albiness in London once, for six-pence, (including the inspection of a stuffed boa-constrictor,) who looked as if she had been boiled in milk.  A young Hottentot of my acquaintance had his hair all in little pellets of the size of marrowfat peas.  One of my own classmates has undergone a singular change of late years,—­his hair losing its original tint, and getting a remarkable discolored look; and another has ceased to cultivate any hair at all over the vertex or crown of the head.  So I am perfectly willing to believe that the purple-black of the Koh-i-noor’s moustache and whiskers is constitutional and not pigmentary.  But I can’t think why he got so angry.

The intelligent reader will understand that all this pantomime of the threatened onslaught and its suppression passed so quickly that it was all over by the time the other end of the table found out there was a disturbance; just as a man chopping wood half a mile off may be seen resting on his axe at the instant you hear the last blow he struck.  So you will please to observe that the Little Gentleman was not interrupted during the time implied by these ex-post-facto remarks of mine, but for some ten or fifteen seconds only.