Wild rolled his eye as he made reply (and his voice was sharp and shrill),
“I have not, madam, but, by—by—by the nine gods, I will!”
He swung the pipe above his head; he dashed it on the floor,
And that stovepipe, as a stovepipe, it did exist no more;
Then he strode up to his shrinking wife, and his face was stern and wan,
And in a hoarse, changed voice he hissed:
“Send for that tinsmith’s man!”
THE POOR INDIAN!
