_Harry._ That won’t do, Mr. Somerby. You were seen at the auction; you were heard to bid for the animal. I’m afraid you will have to suffer. _Silas._ I won’t pay a cent. They may drag me to jail, torture me with cold baths and hot irons; but not a cent will I pay for the capers of that elephant. _Enter BIAS BLACK, L._ _Bias._ Hay! What’s dat? Am yer gwine to ’pudiate, Massa Somebody? Gwine back on de ber--ber--bullephant--am yer? _Silas._ What’s the matter with you, Bias Black? _Bias._ Wal, I speck a heap, Massa Somebody. Dat ar bullephant of yourn has driben dis indervideral inter bankrupturicy. Dar’s been a reg’lar smash up ob his commercial crisis, and de wabes ob affliction are rollin’ into dis yer bussom. _Silas_. Now, yeou black imp, talk English, or walk Spanish, quick! What do yeou want? _Bias._ Want damages, heavy damages; dat’s what I want, Massa Somebody. _Silas._ Damages for what? _Bias._ Wal, hold yer hush, an’ I’ll tell yer. Las’ night I was gwine along de road, see, wid my hoss and wagon chock full, an’ ole Missey Pearson sittin’ alongside ob me--picked her up in de road. Pore ole lady! Guess she won’t ax any more rides! An’ jes’ when I got by Square Jones’s door, den dar was an airthquake, by golly! Somethin’ took right hole ob de tail-board. Felt somethin’ h’ist. Knowed ’twas a shock; and de nex’ ting I knowed, I was up in a tree! Missey Pearson was h’isted onto de fence, an’ dat ar bullephant was a chasin’ dat ar hoss ober de wagon, an’ a trampin’ round an’ chawin’ up things fine, I tell yer. Golly! such a mess! Dat’s what de matter. Lost eberyting. Wouldn’t a taken sebenty-five dollars for dat ar wagon. An’ dat ole lady, guess she’s shook all to pieces. _Silas._ And you expect me to pay for this! _Bias._ Ob course, ob course. If old gents will sow dar wild oats wid bullephants, dey must expect to pay for de thrashin’. Sebenty-five dollars for de wagon, sixty-seben dollars and ninepence for de goods, an’ about fifty dollars for de scare to dat pore ole hoss. I’ll trow de ole lady in. _Silas._ I’ll throw yeou inter the horse-pond, yeou black imp! Not a dollar will yeou get from me. _Bias._ Hey! You won’t pay? Den I’ll hab de law. Yes, sir. I’ll hab a jury set onto you, an’--, an’--an’--a judge, and two or three habus corpuses. You can’t fool dis chile. Dar want no muzzle on de bullephant, an’ it’s agin de law. _Silas._ Well, go to law. I shan’t pay a cent. _Enter PAT MURPHY, L._ _Pat._ Where’s the kaper of the brute, I’d like to know? Where’s the hathin that sinds wild bastes a rarin’ an’ a tarin’ into the paceful quarthers of the globe? _Silas_. What’s the matter with yeou, Pat Murphy? _Pat._ Aha, owld gint, ’tis there ye are. It’s a mighty foine scrape yer in this time, wid yer drinkin’ an’ rollickin’. _Silas._ Come, come, Pat Murphy, keep a civil tongue in your head.