"Eh?" said he, frowning a little at the hill.
"You've never heard of Rabelais, or Panurge, of course," said I. The
Ostler took out his straw, eyed it thoughtfully, and put it back again.
"No," said he.
"More's the pity!" said I, and was about to turn away, when he drew the nearest fist abruptly from his pocket, and extended it towards me.
"Look at that!" he commanded.
"Rather dirty," I commented, "but otherwise a good, useful member, I make no doubt."
"It's a-goin'," said he, alternately drawing in and shooting out the fist in question, "it's a-goin' to fill your eye up."
"Is it?" said I.
"Ah!" said he.
"But what for?"