Tom hitched up his trousers as he spoke, and looked pleasant.
But like fire from flint the Ju-Ju king sprang up, and attempted to knife poor Tom. And Tom with a single twist disarmed him, and next moment the king in his beads was lying on his back, the blood flowing from his nasal organ.
Tom was as calm as a judge.
"'Xcuse me, old chap," he said, "for making your morsel of a nose bleed. Would have preferred giving ye a pair of black eyes, only they wouldn't show like, your skin's so dark.
"Seems to me," he added, "yer soul's as black as yer blooming skin. Wouldn't I like to trice yer Majesty up and give ye four dozen.
"Here, interpreter," continued this tormenting Tom, "'terpret wot I says to this ere himage o' Satan. Are ye ready?"
"Tell him that we've wiped out his sodgers, and ask if he could oblige us by turning out a new army. We were only just a-settlin' down to serious fightin' when the beggars bolted.
"Told him?"
"Yes, sah. And now he groan and shake his big head plenty mooch, for true!"
"Tell him not to be afeard, that we won't scupper him (kill him) for a day or two, but that we means only to put a hook through his nose and 'ang him to a branch. Have you got a grip o' that, 'terpreter?"