Enraged by his answer, I rushed for the table; but, before I could reach them, my uncle struggled to his feet and resumed the conflict, using his umbrella most valiantly. I paused a moment, hoping he might yet conquer, but the fight was too unequal. By a skilful twist of his opponent's wrist my uncle's umbrella was sent flying out of his hand. Being disarmed, he sank upon one knee and begged for mercy.
"Trancastro!" cried the victor, "you deserve no better fate than the cruel death you meant for me!"
"Oh, have mercy!" cried my uncle.
"Mercy?" repeated the manikin, in a cruel tone; "and did you have mercy, Trancastro, when I hung for so many weary years in your cage-dungeon beneath the floating Castle of Volitana? Did you have mercy, I say, when the black cat broke through the ice-wall, and the witch changed me to a frozen mastodon? No! And where is the Princess of the Rosy Flame? Where is the Emerald of Golconda?"
My uncle hung his head and attempted no reply.
"Come," repeated the stranger; "I have waited for this meeting for centuries. Draw and defend yourself!"
"I have only an umbrella," my uncle objected.
"Then draw your umbrella!" was the relentless reply. As the little fellow advanced with sword on guard, I recovered from my feeling that this incident was a mere puppet-show. My uncle was about to be slain before my eyes.
I could not stand this. The honor of the family forbade me to remain neutral. I rushed to the table, crying, "Here! here!—this has gone quite far enough!"
Again the beckoning. I became in a moment a third pygmy upon my own table.
"Now," exclaimed the triumphant warrior, "we are upon equal terms! Come on!"
