"He is a perfect bear," says Cecil angrily.
"He is a wicked old man," says Molly, still trembling with indignation.
"He is a jolly old snook," says Mr. Potts. But as neither of his listeners know what he means, they do not respond.
"Let us do something," says Plantagenet, briskly.
"But what? Will you sing for us, Molly? 'Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast.'"
"It would take a good deal of music to soothe our bête noire," says Potts. "Besides—I confess it,—music is not what Artemus Ward would call my 'forte.' I don't understand it. I am like the man who said he only knew two tunes in the world: one was 'God save the Queen,' and the other wasn't. No, let us do something active,—something unusual, something wicked."
"If you can suggest anything likely to answer to your description, you will make me your friend for life," says Cecil, with solemnity. "I feel bad."
"Did you ever see a devil?" asks Mr. Potts, in a sepulchral tone.
"A what?" exclaim Cecil and Molly, in a breath.
"A devil," repeats he, unmoved. "I don't mean our own particular old gentleman, who has been behaving so sweetly to-night, but a regular bona fide one."