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224 "Your honor, I propose" At that instant the ball of curled hair, which had been confined between his shirt-collar and his neck, set free by the change in his position, commenced rolling down his chest upon the unprotected cuticle, like a spider with ten thousand sharp, clawed feet, going after his prey in a hurry. Mike felt it, and every nerve in his system thrilled in response, as if struck by the shock from a galvanic battery. Springing about four feet clear of the floor, he yelled in wild despair, and came down with a jar which shook the whole room, with hair on end, eyes in frenzy rolling, and face of the hue of death; fairly gasping for breath, he snatched at his collar convulsively, tore it open, and following the descending serpent with desperate haste, tore every button off his shirt bosom in succession, grasping the dread monster at last as it paused in its career at its waist, where his pants were cinched so tightly that it could go no further, drew it forth, with hand trembling so that he could scarcely hold it, and sank faint, sick and helpless into a chair. Meantime the commotion in the Court room was something indescribable. The Judge sprang to his feet in astonishment and ill-concealed apprehension; the spectators and members of the bar, under the impression that Mike had gone suddenly crazy, or been violently attacked with the delirium tremens, were seized with a panic, and upsetting chairs, benches and each other in their haste to get out of his reach, fled from the room, as the demon fled from the chamber where the fish of Tobit lay—probably