"There!" says Mr. O'Brodereque exultingly, "he hasn't got so much of a showing. That nigger gal ain't what she's cracked up to be!" and he shakes his head knowingly, thrusts his hands deep into his breeches pockets, smiles with an air of great consequence. "Where did ye raise the critter? devil of a feller ye be, Brodereque!" says a young sprig, giving his hat a particular set on the side of his head, and adjusting his eye-glass anew. "Ye ain't gin her a name, in all the showin'," he continues, drawlingly. "That gal! She ain't worth so much, a'ter all. She's of Marston's stock; Ellen Juvarna, I think they call her. She's only good for her looks, in the animal way,--that's all!" "Hav'n't told where ye got her, yet," interrupts the sprig; "none of yer crossin' corners, general." "Well, I started up that gal of Elder Pemberton Praiseworthy. She takes it into her mind to get crazed now and then, and Marston had to sell her; and the Elder bought her for a trifle, cured up her thinkin'-trap, got her sound up for market, and I makes a strike with the Elder, and gets her at a tall bargain." Mr. O'Brodereque has lost none of his dignity, none of his honour, none of his hopes of getting into Congress by the speculation. It is poor Ellen Juvarna; she has been cured for the market. She might have said, and with truth,--"You don't know me now, so wonderful are they who deal with my rights in this our world of liberty!" CHAPTER XVII. A NOT UNCOMMON SCENE SLIGHTLY CHANGED. ROMESCOS, having withdrawn from the saloon while the excitement raged highest, may be seen, with several others, seated at a table in the upper room. They are in earnest consultation,--evidently devising some plan for carrying out a deep-laid plot.