When the assassins had gone twenty miles, the terrible
Dry-throat--for that was the name of the chief--stopped in the middle
of a field, and, turning to his companions, said to them in a large
voice: “Now you can go back to the Black Country. Await me there, and
in four or five days we will see each other again.”
“Excuse me, sir,” said one of the ugly faces, “did you think to bring
with you something to eat?”
“I have carried nothing.”
“Too bad! And if along the road you should have an appetite?”
“If I do not find anything else, I will resign myself to eat this
little monkey that I have here in my pocket.”
Poor Beppo, hearing such words, commenced to scratch his nose and
ears with desperation.
“But, if you eat the little monkey, what will the good fairy with the
blue hair say?”
“The fairy will not scold me, because I promised to carry her Beppo
dead or alive. In any case, if there comes to me the wish to eat him,
I will keep his skin intact, because the fairy can see with her own
eyes, and ascertain that I have carried out her wishes.”
“You are right, master. A good trip and safe return to you!”
Scarcely had the assassins taken leave of their leader, when they
attached under their arms some large wings, and, jumping up, they
mounted into the air with a great noise, just like a flock of
frightened crows.
Dry-throat, thus left alone, followed his road across the fields,
rivers, forests, and lakes, without stopping, never, never, never.
After having walked two days and nights, he heard, coming out of the
pocket of his large coat, a suffocated voice that appeared to come
from under the earth, saying with a tone of sobbing: “I am hungry. I
am very hungry.”
Dry-throat, instead of replying, stroked his long beard, and
redoubled his pace.
After a few minutes he heard again the little voice, saying: “Mr.
Assassin, will you give me a grape or a cherry or a half a pear? I am
so starved that I feel as if my stomach would go away. Believe me,
Mr. Assassin, I am so hungry that I can see it in the dark.”
“If you are hungry,” replied Dry-throat, laughing, “search around my
pocket. You will find some nice little tidbits there that will not
give you indigestion.”
“For two days and nights I have searched, and I have found nothing,”
said Beppo.
“Then eat the lining of the pocket.”
“I have eaten the first lining, but the second is so hard that my
teeth cannot make an impression on it.”
“You have eaten it?” yelled Dry-throat, getting angry. “Ugly little
monkey! Just wait until we arrive at the Fly Inn. I will teach you a
lesson.”
Meanwhile night came on. Oh, it was an awful night! The heavens were
covered with clouds. It lightened and thundered. The forest trees,
knocked down by the violent wind, twisted, creaked, and groaned like
so many desperate souls. At exactly midnight, Dry-throat arrived
before the Fly Inn. It was closed. He struck at the door once, twice,
three times. No response. Then, with all the breath he had in his
lungs, he began to cry: “Open the door, Candle-bit! ’Tis I!”
Candle-bit was the name of the inn-keeper. Every one called him that,
because he was little and resembled a bit of yellow candle grease.
The inn was opened only in daytime. Scarcely did night come on, when
Candle-bit, annoyed at being troubled after dark, closed the door,
put out the fires and lights, and then went to bed. Once in bed, he
never opened the door for any one.
[Illustration]
When Dry-throat perceived that the inn-keeper was making fun of him,
what do you think he did? He began to extend his arms and legs until
he became so large that the roof of the inn came to his waist. Then,
working with both his hands, he began to take off the roof. The
bricks, rafters, and tiles flew away, like leaves carried away by the
wind.
Candle-bit, scared nearly to death at the horrible noise, poked
his head outside of the sheet, and, feigning to awake, said in a
trembling voice, “Who is it that calls me?”
“’Tis I,” replied Dry-throat, putting his head into the hole he had
made in the roof.
You must know, little reader, that this hole opened into the room
of the inn-keeper, who felt his blood congeal when in the flame
of lightning he saw the menacing face of the head of the gang of
assassins.
“What do you wish with me, Mr. Dry-throat?” asked Candle-bit, who
from fear had little breath left in his body.
“What do I wish? I wish to take you by the hair, and throw you away a
thousand miles.”
“Oh, do not do that! Have pity on me!”
“You do not deserve pity.”
“Have pity then on my little baby! If he remains alone in this house,
the wolves will eat him.”
“No, no, I do not wish to be eaten by wolves,” said the little baby.
At the words of the child, Dry-throat changed. In a more human voice
he said: “All right! Get up and prepare me some supper.”
Candle-bit obeyed. He was so scared that he did not remember how to
dress himself. He thought he had taken his stockings and tried to
put his feet in his night-cap. He perceived his error and put on
his shoes, then over his shoes he put on his stockings. Then he put
on his jacket, then his shirt, then his vest. Finding his trousers
in his hand, he forgot what they were for, and he put them into his
bureau. Then he descended and opened the door.
Dry-throat, who had taken the size of an ordinary man, went inside;
and, shaking the drops of water off his clothes, he sat down at a
table. He asked the landlord, “What can I have for supper?”
“All that you might wish, Your Majesty. All you have to do is to
order.”
“What kind of meat have you?”
“We have no meat.”
“And cheese?”
“We have no cheese.”
“And bread?”
“We have no bread.”
“What, then, can I eat?” asked the assassin, shaking his head and
beginning to lose patience.
“If Your Majesty desires fruit?”
“What kind of fruit have you?”
“Cherries, almonds, and peaches.”
“Give me a plate of peaches.”
“And to me a nice plate of cherries,” said a little voice that came
out of the pocket of Dry-throat.
“Who asked for cherries?” stuttered the landlord, surprised and
afraid.
“It is I,” replied a little voice.
“Doubt not,” interrupted Dry-throat, “doubt not, Beppo, that I will
give you some cherries. Come out of my pocket, and we will settle our
accounts.” Saying this, the chief of the gang unbuttoned the pocket
of his coat, and the little monkey, without making any compliments,
jumped upon the middle of the table and placed himself upon a soup
tureen.