“Braggart! knave!” cried the little man, interrupting. “I offer to fight you again! You dare not fight!”
The smaller the dog the rarer the punishments and the larger the arrogance.
“Shatter my hilt!” said Adam, “you and another gnat would devour me whole.”
Without warning, and yet gently, Rust took him by the collar, twirled him about so that he could lay his other hand on the trousers of the midget, and hoisting him off his feet, though he kicked and made a disturbance with yelling and raving, carried him at once to the open window of the tavern and dropped him out, on the sidewalk beneath.
Three or four partisans, who had backed up little white-eyes and the landlord, now edged toward the door. Adam made one motion in their direction and they got out with becoming alacrity.
“Lock that door till we have had our breakfast,” Rust commanded.
The landlord had no more than complied, than the little rat, dropped from the window, came banging against the barrier on the outside, demanding admittance vociferously.
“Who is yon whiffet?” Adam asked.
“His name is Psalms Higgler,” laughed the landlord, with fine hypocrisy. “How bravely you served him, and rightly too.” He rubbed his hands gleefully.
“And his friend who sent him hither, he that danced so divertingly, what may be his name?”