They were simple if
      not altogether innocent expletives—imaginative phrases wherewith to
      round off a sentence. When he said “I’ll bet you so and so,” nobody ever
      thought of taking him up; but still I could not help thinking it my duty
      to put him down. The habit was an immoral one, and so I told him. It was a
      vulgar one—this I begged him to believe. It was discountenanced by
      society—here I said nothing but the truth. It was forbidden by act
      of Congress—here I had not the slightest intention of telling a lie. I remonstrated—but to no purpose. I demonstrated—in vain. I
      entreated—he smiled. I implored—he laughed. I preached—he
      sneered. I threatened—he swore. I kicked him—he called for the
      police. I pulled his nose—he blew it, and offered to bet the Devil
      his head that I would not venture to try that experiment again. Poverty was another vice which the peculiar physical deficiency of
      Dammit’s mother had entailed upon her son. He was detestably poor, and
      this was the reason, no doubt, that his expletive expressions about
      betting, seldom took a pecuniary turn. I will not be bound to say that I
      ever heard him make use of such a figure of speech as “I’ll bet you a
      dollar.” It was usually “I’ll bet you what you please,” or “I’ll bet you
      what you dare,” or “I’ll bet you a trifle,” or else, more significantly
      still, “I’ll bet the Devil my head.”


      This latter form seemed to please him best;—perhaps because it
      involved the least risk; for Dammit had become excessively parsimonious. Had any one taken him up, his head was small, and thus his loss would have
      been small too. But these are my own reflections and I am by no means sure
      that I am right in attributing them to him. At all events the phrase in
      question grew daily in favor, notwithstanding the gross impropriety of a
      man betting his brains like bank-notes—but this was a point which
      my friend’s perversity of disposition would not permit him to comprehend. In the end, he abandoned all other forms of wager, and gave himself up to
      “I’ll bet the Devil my head,” with a pertinacity and exclusiveness of
      devotion that displeased not less than it surprised me. I am always
      displeased by circumstances for which I cannot account. Mysteries force a
      man to think, and so injure his health. The truth is, there was something
      in the air with which Mr. Dammit was wont to give utterance to his
      offensive expression—something in his manner of enunciation—which
      at first interested, and afterwards made me very uneasy—something
      which, for want of a more definite term at present, I must be permitted to
      call queer; but which Mr. Coleridge would have called mystical, Mr. Kant
      pantheistical, Mr. Carlyle twistical, and Mr. Emerson hyperquizzitistical. I began not to like it at all. Mr. Dammits soul was in a perilous state. I
      resolved to bring all my eloquence into play to save it. I vowed to serve
      him as St. Patrick, in the Irish chronicle, is said to have served the
      toad,—that is to say, “awaken him to a sense of his situation.” I
      addressed myself to the task forthwith. Once more I betook myself to
      remonstrance. Again I collected my energies for a final attempt at
      expostulation. When I had made an end of my lecture, Mr. Dammit indulged himself in some
      very equivocal behavior. For some moments he remained silent, merely
      looking me inquisitively in the face. But presently he threw his head to
      one side, and elevated his eyebrows to a great extent. Then he spread out
      the palms of his hands and shrugged up his shoulders. Then he winked with
      the right eye. Then he repeated the operation with the left. Then he shut
      them both up very tight. Then he opened them both so very wide that I became
      seriously alarmed for the consequences. Then, applying his thumb to his
      nose, he thought proper to make an indescribable movement with the rest of
      his fingers. Finally, setting his arms a-kimbo, he condescended to reply. I can call to mind only the heads of his discourse. He would be obliged to
      me if I would hold my tongue. He wished none of my advice. He despised all
      my insinuations. He was old enough to take care of himself. Did I still
      think him baby Dammit? Did I mean to say any thing against his character? Did I intend to insult him? Was I a fool? Was my maternal parent aware, in
      a word, of my absence from the domiciliary residence? He would put this
      latter question to me as to a man of veracity, and he would bind himself
      to abide by my reply. Once more he would demand explicitly if my mother
      knew that I was out. My confusion, he said, betrayed me, and he would be
      willing to bet the Devil his head that she did not. Mr. Dammit did not pause for my rejoinder. Turning upon his heel, he left
      my presence with undignified precipitation. It was well for him that he
      did so. My feelings had been wounded. Even my anger had been aroused. For
      once I would have taken him up upon his insulting wager. I would have won
      for the Arch-Enemy Mr. Dammit’s little head—for the fact is, my
      mamma was very well aware of my merely temporary absence from home. But Khoda shefa midêhed—Heaven gives relief—as the Mussulmans
      say when you tread upon their toes. It was in pursuance of my duty that I
      had been insulted, and I bore the insult like a man. It now seemed to me,
      however, that I had done all that could be required of me, in the case of
      this miserable individual, and I resolved to trouble him no longer with my
      counsel, but to leave him to his conscience and himself. But although I
      forebore to intrude with my advice, I could not bring myself to give up
      his society altogether. I even went so far as to humor some of his less
      reprehensible propensities; and there were times when I found myself
      lauding his wicked jokes, as epicures do mustard, with tears in my eyes:—so
      profoundly did it grieve me to hear his evil talk. One fine day, having strolled out together, arm in arm, our route led us
      in the direction of a river. There was a bridge, and we resolved to cross
      it. It was roofed over, by way of protection from the weather, and the
      archway, having but few windows, was thus very uncomfortably dark. As we
      entered the passage, the contrast between the external glare and the
      interior gloom struck heavily upon my spirits. Not so upon those of the
      unhappy Dammit, who offered to bet the Devil his head that I was hipped. He seemed to be in an unusual good humor. He was excessively lively—so
      much so that I entertained I know not what of uneasy suspicion. It is not
      impossible that he was affected with the transcendentals.