Then Signor Scratchini, as meek as a lamb,
Looked up, and most quaintly remarked, “Yes, I am!”
And his polished black boots turned to black hoofs with corns,
And his black curly hair to a black pair of horns,
His cue to a pitchfork, his black eyes to coals,
His fingers to claws, and his studs into holes
From whence there came out such a fire and a smoke
That everyone felt just as though they would choke;
And he grabbed hold of Peeler, with eyes darting flame,
But Peeler had presence of mind to exclaim—