But as Tom walked about, and paid no attention to him, he thought perhaps he had not addressed him respectfully enough. So he said,—“I beg your pardon, Mr. Thumb! I hope you are pretty well, Mr. Thumb.”
At that the little gentleman took off his hat, and made the politest little bow imaginable.
“My name is Andy. I have read about you. Come, let's be friends.”
Mr. Thumb made some reply, but in such a very small voice that Andy could not understand a word.
“Speak again, Mr. Thumb, if you please.”
And Andy put his head down to hear. But Tom appeared to be afraid; and, opening the little door again, he stepped back into the stump.
“Hello! come out again!” cried Andy. “Won't you? Then I'll find you!”
And with the dove's quill he forced the door of Tom Thumb's house, and penetrated the entry. At that he heard a confused murmuring and muttering and shouting; and, pulling away the feather, he saw rush out after it a dozen little fellows, all as angry as they could be.
“Excuse me, gentlemen!” said Andy, as soon as he had recovered from his astonishment. “I didn't mean any harm. Did I hurt anybody?”
They did not answer, but kept running to and fro, and talking among themselves, and darting in and out of the door, as if to see what damage had been done.