tossed his hat into the waste-basket. He picked up my old chalk pipe
from the floor, gave the stem a wipe or two on his knee, filled the bowl
from the tobacco-box at his side, and said to me in a tone of pert
command:

"Gimme a match!"

I blushed to the roots of my hair; partly with indignation, but mainly
because it somehow seemed to me that this whole performance was very like
an exaggeration of conduct which I myself had sometimes been guilty of in
my intercourse with familiar friends--but never, never with strangers, I
observed to myself. I wanted to kick the pygmy into the fire, but some
incomprehensible sense of being legally and legitimately under his
authority forced me to obey his order. He applied the match to the pipe,
took a contemplative whiff or two, and remarked, in an irritatingly
familiar way:

"Seems to me it's devilish odd weather for this time of year."

I flushed again, and in anger and humiliation as before; for the language
was hardly an exaggeration of some that I have uttered in my day, and
moreover was delivered in a tone of voice and with an exasperating drawl
that had the seeming of a deliberate travesty of my style. Now there is
nothing I am quite so sensitive about as a mocking imitation of my
drawling infirmity of speech. I spoke up sharply and said:

"Look here, you miserable ash-cat! you will have to give a little more
attention to your manners, or I will throw you out of the window!"

The manikin smiled a smile of malicious content and security, puffed a