Extracting a watch from his pocket, Crocket consulted the time for a moment before snapping the lid shut. “I’m afeard that ain’t so convenient,” he said in an apologetic tone. “I got me an appointment with a lady friend, and blamed if I ain’t already a mite tardy.” For a moment, he mused in silence. Then, addressing Sissy, he said: “Tell you what. I ain’t fixin’ to shove off ’til the mornin’ after next. If it’s agreeable with your mama, why, I’ll come by for a farewell supper tomorrow night and we’ll have us a regular jamboree.”

“Oh, goody!” exclaimed Virginia, clapping her hands as she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet.

“That set all right with you, Poe?” Crockett inquired, turning in my direction.

In truth, the frontiersman’s proposal filled me with sentiments of a less than enthusiastic nature. Nevertheless, I saw no way to demur without violating every precept of my deeply inbred sense of Southern hospitality.

“Perfectly,” I replied. “And I am certain that dear Muddy will likewise be delighted.”

“Well, that settles it,” said Crockett with a broad smile as he replaced his hat atop his head. Bidding me good-night, he strode to the doorway and departed—though not before assuring Virginia that he was “keen as mustard” to hear her sing on the morrow.

The following morning, I resolved to devote the entire day to my professional duties in regard to Mr. Thomas White’s admirable new publishing venture, the Southern Literary Messenger. I rejoiced at the prospect of thus returning to my work. The unparalleled events of the past week had resulted in my complete, if unavoidable, neglect of those responsibilities upon which my very livelihood—and, along with it, the material well-being of my loved ones—depended.

Immediately following my morning repast, I therefore retired to my study with the intention of examining the sizable stack of books which Mr. White had recently sent me for the purpose of reviewing. Plucking the topmost volume from this pile, I quickly discovered that it was nothing more than one of the myriad of wretchedly inferior sentimental novels that had been flooding the American marketplace in recent years. To peruse the book and compose a suitably scathing review occupied my efforts until noontime, at which point I interrupted my labors to enjoy a modest lunch.