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The Killers: A Narrative of Real Life in Philadelphia
- University of Pennsylvania Press
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[44.221.43.88] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 15:39 GMT) [47] the KillerS S PArt i. the StUdeNtS. on a warm summer night, in the year 1846, two students of Yale College, were sitting alone, in their room, in the —— hotel, well known to the people of the fair City of elms.1 one of these young men was the son of a Philadelphia Merchant; the other was the son of a native of Cuba, who for political offences had been exiled from the “Gem of the Gulf.” Seated near a table, copiously overspread with the tokens of student-life, in all its phases—pipes, cigars, bottles, glasses, Greek Grammars and latin lexicons—these young men were discussing their havannahs2 of the latest and best brand, as they engaged in earnest conversation. Cromwell hicks, the son of the Philadelphia merchant, was a youth of some nineteen years, rather tall, with blue eyes, fair complexion and a prominent chin adorned by a precocious beard. dressed in a flashy wrapper, which thrown back, displayed a white vest and blue cravat, Cromwell rested his feet upon the table, in a manner that gave his comrade every opportunity to examine the plaid of his pantaloons and the patent leather of his gaiters. the young Cuban was a man of different make: Slim, elegantly formed, his eyes, beard and complexion dark, he rested his elbows upon the table and leaning his cheeks upon his hands, looked steadily into the face of Cromwell from the opposite side of [48] The Killers the table, at the same time passing the smoke of his cigar through his nostrils with all the gusto of a confirmed smoker. don Jorge Marin was two years older than his companion; and altogether of a more nervous and excitable temperament. the conversation of the young men will disclose a portion of the incidents which open our narrative. “expelled!” said Cromwell with an emphatic puff. “expelled!” echoed don Jorge, in very good english, and with a column of smoke issuing from each nostril. “And after i have only been six months at College!” said Cromwell , helping himself to a glass of brandy. “i have been here a little longer—a year,” responded don Jorge, lighting a fresh cigar. “Just look at our affairs! in a lark—a quiet genteel sort of lark— we attempted to abduct the daughter of one of the Professors—after which, with an old cannon, we took a shy at one of the college buildings. We merely wished to have a little fun with the girl and blow the college building into its original element. And for this we have been expelled. really George, my boy, the world is getting illiberal. “What shall we do?” responded Jorge or George as you may choose to spell it—“i can’t move until i get a letter from my father who is now at Saratoga.3 You know he was exiled from Cuba when i was but a child, and since then we have subsisted upon the wreck of his fortune, which he managed to bring with him to this country . funds are rather low with him just now, and besides that he is always engaged upon some attempt or other to free our native island from the Spaniard. Besides he’s rather indignant about some of my capers in New York last winter —” The Killers [49] don Jorge was interrupted by his companion— “i too am waiting for a letter from my father. he’s an elderly gentleman, round in face and white in cravat—devoted to stocks— and with a kind of Quaker kink to the collar of his coat. fond of good living—sometimes liberal—and sometimes stingy as Astor.4 Mother, however, is my friend at court—some fifteen years younger than father, she always manages to bring the old man to terms. it was through her that i escaped the counting-room, and came to College. Zounds! i wish the letter would come.” Young hicks rose, and going to the window looked out upon the night. it was hot, damp and “drizzly.” A misty cloud overspread the City of elms, and the prospect was cheerless as the young man’s fortunes. While the young American, hands in his pockets, was engaged in a sort of vacant survey of the state of the weather, the young Cuban drew a letter from his pocket, postmarked “Saratoga ,” and signed “Antonio Marin.” While he perused the letter a singular...