Poor fellow! his chagrin
was great when this peculiar conformation of his skull was first brought
to his notice. He had been telling me for some time past of the
"splendid piccha" he had had "took," and I had been promised a sight of
it just as soon as it arrived from the photographer's. I confess I had
not been sanguine as to the result, although I knew a handsome portrait
was confidently expected by the sitter. One morning he deposited the
photograph before me.
"Hello!" I cried, taking it in my hand; "here you are, hit off to the
life."
"Do' say _that_, Mist' Dunkin, _do_' say hit, seh," he replied, in a
tone of deep mortification. Then, catching a glimpse of the picture, his
ire broke forth: "Nevvah wuz like _me_ in de wueld," he cried, in an
elevated key; "nevvah _wuz_ ha'f so ugly ez that. I'm--I'm a
bettah-lookin' man, Mist' Dunkin. Why, look at de color of de thing,"
contemptuously. "Cain' tell de face f'om de coat I nevvah set up to be
what you'd call _faih_-cumplectid, but disha things iss same is that
thaih ink; jess iss same. My hade do' look that a way, neitha. Naw,
_seh_, 'taint s' bad 's that."
"Why, Thomas," said I, "_I_ think it a very good likeness--the
complexion _is_ a little dark to be sure, but do you know I particularly
admire the head. Look at that forehead; any one can see that you are a
man of intellect.
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