cudgel, but at the moment when he raised it, Cornelius rushed at him, snatched it from his hands, and put it under his own arm.
Gryphus fairly bellowed with rage.
“Hush, hush, my good man,” said Cornelius, “don’t do anything to lose your place.”
“Ah! you sorcerer, I’ll pinch you worse,” roared Gryphus.
“I wish you may.”
“Don’t you see that my hand is empty?”
“Yes, I see it, and I am glad of it.”
“You know that it is not generally so, when I come up stairs in the morning.”
“It’s true, you generally bring me the worst soup, and the most miserable rations, one can imagine. But that’s not a punishment to me; I eat only bread, and the worse the bread is to your taste, Gryphus, the better it is to mine.”
“How so?”
“Oh, it’s a very simple thing.”
“Well, tell it me,” said Gryphus.
“Very willingly. I know that in giving me bad bread, you think you do me harm.”
“Certainly, I don’t give it you to please you, you brigand.”
“Well, then, I, who am a sorcerer, as you know, change your bad into excellent bread, which I relish more than the best cake; and then I have the double pleasure of eating something that gratifies my palate, and of doing something that puts you in a rage.”
Gryphus answered with a growl.
“Oh! you confess, then, that you are a sorcerer.”
“Indeed, I am one, I don’t say it before all the world, because they might burn me for it, but as we are alone, I don’t mind telling you.”
