"The sacks, into which Mena's arrears flow seem to be empty," laughed the
cook.

"Empty! empty! much like your wit!" answered the dwarf. "Give me a bit
of roast meat, steward; and you slaves bring me a drink of beer."

"You just now said your maw was no bigger than a fly's head," cried the
cook, "and now you devour meat like the crocodiles in the sacred tank of
Seeland. You must come from a world of upside-down, where the men are as
small as flies, and the flies as big as the giants of the past."

"Yet, I might be much bigger," mumbled the dwarf while he munched on
unconcernedly, "perhaps as big as your spite which grudges me the third
bit of meat, which the steward--may Zefa bless him with great possessions
--is cutting out of the back of the antelope."

"There, take it, you glutton, but let out your girdle," said the steward
laughing, "I had cut the slice for myself, and admire your sharp nose."

"All noses," said the dwarf, "they teach the knowing better than any
haruspex what is inside a man."

"How is that?" cried the gardener.

"Only try to display your wisdom," laughed the steward; for, if you want
to talk, you must at last leave off eating."

"The two may be combined," said the dwarf. "Listen then! A hooked nose,
which I compare to a vulture's beak, is never found together with a
submissive spirit. Think of the Pharaoh and all his haughty race. The