“Get orf—get orf!”
“Sling summat at un!”
“Shame! Booooo! Ssssss!!”
While the tumult progressed Eliphalet leaned upon a palm pedestal and surveyed the house with a mystified expression. He thought they were applauding him, and bowed his acknowledgment (incidentally knocking over the palm and pedestal!). There was a fresh uproar. Evidently they were not applauding—something must be wrong. What? He held up his hand, and his great bass voice rang out with unexpected volume.
“Silence!” And they were silent. “I was warned you’d want holding, and I’ll hold you.”
A shout of derision was hurled from the gallery.
“I’ll hold you yet,” said Eliphalet, rocking to and fro.
Then a carrot whizzed through the air and fell with a plump at his feet.
A carrot! The vegetable of derision—the symbol of contempt—the food of asses—to him, Eliphalet Cardomay!
And the mists cleared from his brain and the waywardness from his limbs.