But they could not unbutton it. Not a button would come through its hole.
“Fetch me a pair of shears, rascals,” said Babadag, and in a moment I knew that shears were snapping away at my doublet. But it was no use; the blade would not cut, neither the thread of the buttons nor the cloth; they held like iron at every point. I heard the shears drop to the floor.
“The Shears of Sharpness! Bring me the Shears of Sharpness!” said Babadag. “Nothing else will cut this doublet.”
I heard a chuckle, and the voice of one of the ballad singers said, “The Shears of Sharpness, brothers!” And there was another chuckle.
“What!” said Babadag. “You laugh, rascals? You dare to laugh?”
“The Shears of Sharpness!” said the voice of one of the ballad singers. “Where are the Shears of Sharpness, brothers?” And at this there was a very considerable tittering.
“Ask the fair lady, brother,” said the voice of another of the ballad singers.
“She knows! The wonderful lady!” said the voice of the third.
“Ineffable scoundrels!” said Babadag. “Have you stolen my Shears?”
“No, no! Only borrowed them! What harm in that?” said the ballad singers.