[7]
Strasburg.—I never had one, replied the stranger, looking back to the centinel, and putting his hand up to his cap as he spoke—I carry it, continued he thus—holding up his naked scymetar, his mule moving on slowly all the time, on purpose to defend my nose.
It is well worth it, gentle stranger, replied the centinel.
—'Tis not worth a single stiver, said the bandy-leg'd drummer—'tis a nose of parchment.
As I am a true catholic—except that it is six times as big—'tis a nose, said the centinel, like my own.
—I heard it crackle, said the drummer.
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