up from below. He was still bristling and blustering, as if all the maids were remarking him.
"And why does this fine gentleman kick and pound on the door?" he demanded in a gruff voice loud enough to be heard in all appreciative parts of the inn, "I 'll have him out and slit his nose."
The thunder on the door ceased, and the captive observed:
"Ha! another scoundrel! If my ears do not play me false, there are now three waiting for me to kick them to the hangman."
Restraining Paddy and Bottles, who each wished to reply in heroic verse to this sally, I stepped to the door.
"Sir," said I civilly, "I fear a great blunder has been done. I"
"Why," said the captive with a sneer, "'t is the Irishman! 'T is the king of the Irelands. Open the door, pig."
My elation knew no bounds.
"Paddy," cried I, "you have the right little black man." But there was no time for celebration, I must first answer my enemy. "You will remember that I kicked you once," said I, "and if you have a memory as long as my finger be careful I do not kick you again, else even people as far away as the French will think you are a meteor. But I would not be bandying words at long range. Paddy, unbar the door."
"If I can," muttered Paddy, fumbling with a lot of machinery so ingenious that it would require a great lack of knowledge to thoroughly understand it. In the mean time we could hear Forister move away from the door, and by the sound of a leisurely scrape of a chair
