"I will be opening no doors," retorted Paddy indignantly. "Remain quiet, you little black devil, or, by the mass, I'll—"
"I'll slice your heart into pieces of paper," thundered Paddy's prisoner, kicking and pounding.
By this time I was ready to interfere. "Paddy," said I, catching him by the shoulder, "you have the wrong man. Leave it to me; mind you, leave it to me."
"He's that small and black you'd think—" he began dejectedly, but I cut him short.
Jem Bottles, unable to endure the suspense, had come up from below. He was still bristling and blustering, as if all the maids were remarking him.
"And why does this fine gentleman kick and pound on the door?" he demanded in a gruff voice loud enough to be heard in all appreciative parts of the inn. "I'll have him out and slit his nose."
The thunder on the door ceased, and the captive observed:
"Ha! another scoundrel! If my ears do not play me false, there are now three waiting for me to kick them to the hangman."
Restraining Paddy and Bottles, who each wished to reply in heroic verse to this sally, I stepped to the door.
"Sir," said I civilly, "I fear a great blunder has been done. I—"