The Tragedy of the Peasant's Revenge
curious crowds followed them to my gates. I did not clap eyes on him at the time, and the incidents leading up to the horrible tragedy perpetrated by this base wretch came to my knowledge after the event. The bearded one, Hans Bumphauser by name, turned out to be a vain and stupid yokel who had been vastly puffed up by the invitation of the "great American nobleman." His whiskered eminence had won him a certain notoriety in his own village and he had come to conquer new and glittering worlds. He had expected to be received by me in person and the ends of his beard were bound with gaudy fillets of tinsel by way of a festal toilet. It vexed and disgruntled him to find that the "nobleman" was too busy to notice him.
The humiliated object de art sent numerous messages to the mansion demanding art audience with me, between whiles combing and braiding his beard with praiseworthy diligence and holding himself in readiness for the summons that never came. I had forbidden the household servants to annoy me with outside
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