"A smile diffused itself over the whole breadth of the dwarf's face, and he puffed away for his life.
"'You're i' th' right, Godson Klaus. I like my bit of pipe! That I can say, and honestly. It's good tobacco, too; a little dear, no doubt, but fairly earned. Wilt try a Whiff?'
"'I—I—I am much obliged, Godfather Stringstriker, but I am no great smoker, and I like to stick to one sort—Porto-rico—threepence a packet. Would you like to taste it?'
"'Cabbage!' rejoined the Dwarf, contemptuously. 'Tobacco, to be good, must smell like mine. Here, put your nose to it. It's Hungarian of the best!'
"The Dwarf pushed out his broad hand, and Klaus stooped towards it. His heart leaped into his throat as he gazed upon a dozen or two of the purest Kremnitz ducats. He darted at them like a tiger; but the Dwarf was prepared for him.
"'Not so, not so!' replied the latter, drawing his hand back. 'Ere thou have them, we must strike a bargain.'
"And with these words the Dwarf took up his pipe, which only a moment before he had laid aside. The attention of young Nicholas was drawn more closely to it by the movement, and he perceived, for the first time, that the colossal bowl was neither more nor less than a bald, smooth, and perfectly white human skull. A closer inspection convinced him that it was that of his own deceased and venerated parent. Above, upon the forehead, there was a moveable clapper, through which the superfluous smoke ascended; the tube was fixed in the mouth, and the eye-holes were continually supplied with gold pieces by a couple of thousand of indefatigable dwarfs, twenty or thirty of whom tugged along one ducat, and were sorely put to it to bring it to the proper place. Klaus was almost unsettled by the discovery.
"'I see,' he said with an unsteady, tremulous voice—'I see, godfather, you have quite a new-fashioned headpiece there. Is it your own particular fancy, or a new French mode?'
"'Quite my own private and individual goût, godson Klaus!' answered the Dwarf proudly. 'The flavour is perfect out of an old rogue's skull, that has been danced to death. When it is thoroughly smoke-seasoned, I expect the Grand Turk will give me a million piasters for it. Before then I must look about, and get me another. Heark'ee, godson! how clear it rings already!' And before Klaus could get in a word, the Dwarf gave the well-smoked skull a dozen unmerciful kicks with his heavy topboots.
"'For God's sake, godfather Stringstriker,' exclaimed Klaus, 'have some discretion, or I shall forget myself, and fall foul of you! What! do you think a child has no feeling for his dead parents? and is that a respectable way of treating your friends?'