"You have made it quite bright enough—put it down," said my uncle.
I put it down. The storm was gathering: I could not do better than allow it to blow over.
But suddenly, as if overtaken by a strange fancy, my uncle took up the enormous morion and turned and examined it on all sides.
"A handsome piece of armour, there is no doubt about it; but it must have weighed pretty heavily on its wearer's shoulders," he muttered; and, urged by I know not what demon, he clapped it on his head and latched the gorget-piece about his neck.
Struck almost speechless, I watched what he was doing—thinking only how ugly he looked.
Suddenly there was a sharp sound—as if a spring had snapped—and—crack!—down fell the visor; and there was my uncle, with his head in an iron cage, gesticulating and swearing like a pagan!
I could contain myself no longer, and burst into a roar of laughter; for my uncle, stumpy, fat, and rubicund, presented an irresistibly comic appearance.
Threateningly, he came towards me.
"The hinges!—the hinges, fool!" he yelled.