"Assez!'s". Meanwhile The Zulu had discovered the whereabouts of his treasure, had driftingly resumed his
original position; and was quietly inserting the also-captured cigarette
which appeared somewhat confused by its violent aerial journey. Over The
Young Pole stood toweringly Bill The Hollander, his shirt almost in
ribbons about his thick bulging neck, thundering as only Hollanders
thunder.
"Have you got enough you Gottverdummer Polak?"
and The Young Pole, alternating nursing the mutilated pulp where his face
had been and guarding it with futile and helpless and almost infantile
gestures of his quivering hands, was sobbing
"Oui, Oui, Oui, Assez!"
And Bill The Hollander hugely turned to The Zulu, stepping accurately to the paillasse of that individual, and demanded
"And you, you Gottverdummer Polaker, do you want t' fight?"
at which The Zulu gently waved in recognition of the compliment and delicately and hastily replied, between slow puffs
"Mog."
Whereat Bill The Hollander registered a disgusted kick in The Young Pole's direction and swearingly resumed his paillasse.
All this, the reader understands, having taken place in the terribly cold darkness of the half-dawn.
That very day, after a great deal of examination (on the part of the Surveillant) of the participants in this Homeric struggle—said examination failing to reveal the particular guilt or the particular innocence of either—Judas, immaculately attired in a white coat, arrived from downstairs with a step ladder and proceeded with everyone's assistance to reconstruct the original pipe. And a pretty picture Judas made. And a pretty bum job he made. But anyway the stove-pipe drew; and everyone thanked God and fought for places about le poêle. And Monsieur Pet-airs hoped there would be no more fights for a while.
