Of my Incarceration in the Jug
The catch-polls broke out laughing, seeming to be touched by the humour of my rejoinder, and one of ’em gives me a shove that despatched me reeling against the stairway in right earnest. But picking myself up I started a fol-de-rol in a quavering voice, and staggered noisily up the stairs. And all would have gone well, but just as I had gotten to the landing, who should come out of Polly’s room but the arch-janizary himself; who no sooner had set eyes on me than he uttered a thin cackle, and blew a shrill whistle through his teeth. To say the truth, I took longer to recognise him in the gloom than he me, or I should have spoiled that game for him; but after that it was too late, and turning I leaped down the stairs.
“Seize him!” yelled Grubbe. “Take him!” he clamoured; and the traps met me at the bottom. I laid one low with my hanger, and I let a hole through a second, seeing which, the third drew off.
“Curse you for a pack of curs,” screeched Grubbe, and came tumbling down the stairs upon me behind. He had no weapon, but the
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