‘Dost thou see my long arms?’ roared the voice.
‘I see, I see!’ answered Tim, boldly, and he stopped his tailoring to snuff one of the guttering candles, and he threw the burning snuff in the scowling face before him. Then he went on with his tailoring.
The Buggane kept rising and rising up through the hole until the horrible form, black as ebony, and covered with wrinkles like the leather of a blacksmith’s bellows, had risen quite out of the ground.
‘Dost thou see this big body of mine?’ roared the Buggane, angry that Tim showed no fear of him.
‘I see, I see!’ replied the Tailor, at the same time stitching with all his might at the breeches.
‘Dost thou see my sharp claws?’ roared the Buggane in a more angry voice than before.
‘I see, I see!’ answered again the little Tailor, without raising his eyes, and continuing to pull out with all his might.
‘Dost thou see my cloven foot?’ thundered the Buggane, drawing up one big foot and planking it down on the pavement with a thud that made the walls shake.
‘I see, I see!’ replied the little Tailor, as before, stitching hard at the breeches and taking long stitches.
Lifting up his other foot, the Buggane, in a furious rage, yelled: