The Gaspereaugians looked sulky at this.
“Ten, I should say,” resumed Bart. “Ten Gaspereaugians ought to be enough for one of us; and if so, why bring thirty? Answer me that. You won’t? Very well. All the same.”
“Here, young chap,—you dry up!” growled a big Gaspereaugian, who was near him. “Ten of us? I’ll show you that I’m a match fur any ten o’ youns. That wull I jist. So dry up!”
“It’s quite right to keep me tied up,” resumed Bart, cheerily. “I might do you harm, and I only wonder you don’t tie my feet too. You wouldn’t be safe if my hands were loose,—of course. But, my Gaspereaugian friends, why bind the hands of my aged companion? He won’t hurt you. He’s one of your own people. His home is in your own charming valley. You all know old Solomon. I guarantee that he shall not harm one of you. So, my friends, unbind his aged hands.”
“You shut your mouth,” growled the big Gaspereaugian, “or I’ll precious soon make you. I know you,—young f’ler,—no humbug! You’re the chap that blacked my eye with a snowball last winter.”
“Was it you?” said Bart, with a laugh. “That is capital! If I wasn’t tied up, I’d insist on shaking hands with you. And did I black your eye? Ha, ha, ha! I never knew that before. It was a capital shot. I remember, now that you mention it. But look here—you gave me something back. You gave me a snowball that set my nose bleeding for half an hour; and that, I think, was about the only blood that was shed in all our battles.”
Bart spoke with such jolly carelessness, and such good humor, that his fun was contagious, and the Gaspereaugians burst into a roar of laughter. Even the big fellow who had threatened him joined in the laugh, and a murmur went round among them to the effect that this prisoner wasn’t a bad fellow.
“Solomon,” said Bart, “Solomon, my sable friend, how do you feel?”
“Tip top,” said Solomon, with a grin. “Solomon?”
“Yes, s’r.”