"Well," I replied, when I had recovered my composure, "now that we have come to an understanding, tell me quietly, in a friendly way, as one gentleman to another, something about yourself. If you will allow me the question, where do you live? Were you born a dwarf, or—"
"Born a dwarf!" he broke in angrily, "born a dwarf! You great, coarse, overgrown giant—what do you mean, sir?"
"What do I mean?" It was too absurd. "You ridiculous diamond-edition of humanity, what do you suppose I mean? I have always heard that dwarfs were sensitive; but, really, when one is only about half the size of a respectable jack-knife—"
"And I," he broke in again, "have always heard that giants were invariably thick-witted and rude; but I did suppose that any human being, even if he were as tall as the tallest trees and had a voice like a clap of thunder (which is far from agreeable to your hearers, by the way), might be sensible enough to—"
"So you think," said I, interrupting him, "that I am as large as the tallest trees?"
"Certainly," he said, with perfect seriousness.
I thought it worth while to convince him of his error, and therefore invited him to step to the window, against which the table stood. He did so, and, upon looking out, threw up his arms in sheer amazement.
"It is a land of giants!" he said, slowly and in an awe-struck tone.
"Ah!" I remarked quietly, pleased with my little object lesson, "you now see how much smaller you are than ordinary men."
"Ordinary men," he repeated very slowly and with an absent expression. "What then can he think me?"
He stood in silence, with his hands clasped behind him, and appeared to be deep in thought. When he spoke again it was with an entire change of manner.
