OLD Captain Stick was a remarkably precise old gentleman and conscientiously just man. He was, too, very methodical in his habits, one of which was to keep an account in writing of the conduct of his servants, from day to day. It was a sort of account-current, and he settled by it every Saturday afternoon. No one dreaded these hebdomadal balancings more than Tony, the boy of all-work, for the captain was generally obliged to write a receipt, for a considerable amount, across his shoulders.

One settling afternoon, the captain, accompanied by Tony, was seen “toddling” down to the old stable, with his little account book in one hand and a small rope in the other. After they had reached the “Bar of Justice,” and Tony had been properly “strung up,” the captain proceeded to state his accounts as follows:—

“Tony, Dr.

“Sabbath, to not half blacking my boots, etc., five stripes.

“Tuesday, to staying four hours at mill longer than necessary, ten stripes.

“Wednesday, to not locking the hall door at night, five stripes.

“Friday, to letting the horse go without water, five stripes.

“Total, twenty-five stripes.

“Tony, Cr.

“Monday, by first-rate day’s work in the garden, ten stripes.

“Balance due, fifteen stripes.”

The balance being thus struck, the captain drew his cowhide and remarked——“Now, Tony, you black scamp, what say you, you lazy villain, why I shouldn’t give you fifteen lashes across your back, as hard as I can draw?”

“Stop, ole mass,” said Tony; “dar’s de work in de garden, sir—dat ought to tek some off.”

“You black dog,” said the captain, “haven’t I given you the proper credit of ten stripes for that? Come, come!”

“Please, ole massa,” said Tony, rolling his eyes about in agony of fright—“dar’s—you forgot—dar’s de scourin ob de floor—ole missus say nebber been scour as good before.”

“Soho, you saucy rascal,” quoth Captain Stick, “you’re bringing in more offsets, are you? Well, now, there!” Here the captain made an entry upon his book. “You have a credit of five stripes, and the balance must be paid.”

“Gor a mity, massa, don’t hit yet—dar’s sumpen else—oh, Lord! please don’t—yes, sir—got um now—ketchin de white boy and fetchin’ um to ole missus, what trow rock at de young duck.”

“That’s a fact,” said the captain; “the outrageous young vagabond—that’s a fact, and I’ll give you credit of ten stripes for it. I wish you had brought him to me. Now, we’ll settle the balance.”

“Bress de Lord, ole massa,” said Tony, “dat’s all.” Tony grinned extravagantly. The captain adjusted his tortoise-shell spectacles with great exactness, held the book close to his eyes, and ascertained that the fact was as stated by Tony. He was not a little irritated.

“You swear off the account, you infernal rascal—you swear off the account, do you?”

“All de credit is fair, ole massa,” answered Tony.

“Yes, but”—said the disappointed captain—“but—but,”—still the captain was sorely puzzled how to give Tony a few licks anyhow; “but——” An idea popped into his head.

“Where’s my costs, you incorrigible, abominable scoundrel? You want to swindle me, do you, out of my costs, you black deceitful rascal? And,” added Captain Stick, chuckling as well at his own ingenuity as the perfect justice of the sentence, “I enter judgment against you for costs—ten stripes,” and forthwith administered the stripes and satisfied the judgment. “Ki’ nigger!” said Tony, “ki’ nigger! What dis judgmen’ for coss ole massa talk ’bout. Done git off ’bout not blackin’ de boot, git off ’bout stayin’ long time at de mill, and ebery ting else, but dis judgmen’ for coss gim me de debbil. Bress God, nigger must keep out ob de ole stable, or, I’ll tell you what, dat judgmen’ for coss make e back feel mighty warm, for true!”