I'm a
broken and tremblin' reed, Jefe. That's me. I shrinks, I fades away.
The majestic law's too much for me. And suppose you was to fix up a
Proclamation subsequent and immejiate, offerin' a reward for me. Now,
as to fugitive, or as to exile, lookin' at it from my standpoint, I
makes my choice. I says, fugitive. It suits me better. It's elegant
and inexpensive. I ain't worthy of an Executive Edict. As a fugitive
I wouldn't have to fidgit to get even with you. But take your
standpoint, Excellency. There's iniquitous limits to you. For
instance, you can't put up an Executive Edict by yourself.
Consequence is, there's no glory in it for you. But you can put up a
Proclamation, runnin' like this: 'Five hundred dollars reward for
capture and return of one Sadler, that committed humiliatin' assault
on one Hillary, and sp'iled the stomachs and b'iled the skins of
patriotic municipal guardsmen, which shameful person is more'n six
feet of iniquity, and his features homely beyond belief, complexion
dilapidated, and conscience dyspeptic.' Of course, Excellency, there
couldn't anybody give you points on a Proclamation. I ain't doin'
that, but I was supposin' it was printed in the national colours,
with a spectacular reward precedin' a festival of language.
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