"FI' TOUSANT TOLLAIRE! VY YOU NOT MAKE HIM A HUNTRET TOUSANT?"
Late in the afternoon of the second day of his imprisonment, Tulitz, desperate with hunger, rage, and despair, sat down upon the stool in his cell and glared viciously at the grating. The guard's face was there.
"Ha!" cried Tulitz, in a shrill voice, "keep avay! You tink I von tam mouse, and you ze cat, hey? You sit outside ze cage viz your claw out and your tail stiff, ready to pounce on ze mouse. Mon Dieu! How I hate!"
The guard unlocked the iron door and stepped inside. "Don't make sech a racket over nawthin'," he said. "De warden says yer gotter do some eatin'."
"I kill ze warden if he keep not his mechant chute!"
"Wotcher goin' ter do? Starve?"
"If I choose starve, how you prevent him, hey? How make you me eat? Voilà, bête!" Tulitz drew himself to his full height, turned up his shirt-sleeves and bared his great, muscular arm.
"Oh, all right," said the guard. "It's all one to me. Starve if yer wanter. I'm agreeable."
"I vant notting, rien, rien!" said Tulitz. "I vant to be leave alone."
"Dat aint much. Mos' people wat comes here is more graspin'. Mos' people wants ter git out."