“Gammon! gammon! zounds! sir, do you apply that epithet to the young lady who has the honor to be under my protection--I mean the young lady whom I have the honor to protect?” The old gentleman locked his hands under the tail of his coat, and began to prance around at a rapid rate. “Gammon! I think you said gammon, sir! What in the deuce do you mean by gammon, sir? Do you know the meaning of the word, sir? I ask you that, sir. Do you know, sir, that gammon and humbug mean the same thing? Why, didn’t you say the young lady was a humbug, sir, in plain terms! Answer me that, sir. I’ll have you understand, sir, that this young lady is no humbug; she is not gammon either, sir. If you call this unhappy young lady a humbug, sir, you shall answer for it; yes, answer for it. Is that plain enough for you, sir?” “I beg pardon, sir,” said Captain Quitman, politely; “you have entirely misunderstood me, my good friend; I had no allusion to the young lady when I made the remark, I assure you. I am convinced that the young lady heard just what she stated; but I was inclined to think that the conversation she heard was gammon, or humbug, if you please; I infer that the conversation alluded to something that had occurred, not to a plan for future execution.” “You did not mean to apply the word gammon to the young lady then?” “Certainly not! certainly not! I had no thought of such a thing.” “Then, sir, there’s my hand--I forgive you, sir, with all my heart. I am a peaceable man--fact is, sir, I never get excited. I am slow to anger; I love peace, but despise the word gammon. I don’t think such an odious word should ever be used. I had an uncle once who committed suicide under circumstances of the most distressing character. My uncle was a very handsome young man--everybody said he resembled me. He was a very sensitive, melancholy man; had a fashion of looking on the dark side of everything; the fact is, my uncle was an unhappy young man. He fell in love with a beautiful young widow, and for a long time he tried to muster up courage to ask her to marry him; but it was postponed from month to month, until another man entered the lists to contend for the fair prize. At first the beautiful widow was rather favorably inclined toward my uncle. Time went on--my uncle went on, too; so did the beautiful widow. After so long a time, my uncle at last, in a fit of desperation, asked the beautiful widow to marry him. What do you think was her reply, sir? Why, sir, she looked him full in the face and sneeringly said, ‘Gammon!’ The next morning my uncle’s remains were found in a briar patch with a bullet hole through his head; and on a sheet of paper, which he held clinched in his fist, appeared the odious word--gammon, in large letters made in red ink. Now, sir, you will readily understand why I was displeased when you used that word just now.”