hind here--while my brother
philosophers accomplish the task which I have put upon them--on purpose
to exercise some of that insolence upon you, and to see what power a man
hath to curb his temper and to look pleasant, whilst an insolent knave
doth tell him to his face that he is an abject and degraded cur."

"Then by Heaven, you abominable plepshurk," cried Stoutenburg white with
passion, "since you stayed here to parley with me, I can still give you
so complete a retort that your final insolence will have to be spoken in
hell. But let me pass now. I have business inside the hut."

"I know you have, my lord," rejoined Diogenes coolly, "but I am afraid
that your business will have to wait until two philosophers named
respectively Pythagoras and Socrates have had time to finish theirs."

"What do you mean? Let me pass, I tell you, or...."

"Or the wrath of your Magnificence will once more be upon mine unworthy
head. Dondersteen! what have I not suffered already from that
all-powerful wrath!"

"You should have been hanged ere this...."

"It is an omission, my lord, which I fear me we must now leave to the
future to rectify."

"Stand aside, man," cried Stoutenburg, who was hoarse with passion.

"No! not just yet!" was the other's calm reply.

"Stand aside!" reiterated Stoutenburg wildly.

He drew his sword and made a quick thrust at his enemy; he remembered
the man's wounded shoulder and saw that his right hand was temporarily
disabled.

"Ah, my lord!" quoth Diogenes lightly, as with his left he drew
Bucephalus out of its scabbard, "you had forgotten or perhaps you never
knew that during your follower's scramble for safety my sword remained
unheeded in an easily accessible spot, and also that it is as much at
home in my left hand as in my right."

Like a bull goaded to fury Stoutenburg made a second and more vigorous
thrust at his opponent. But Diogenes was already on guard: calm, very
quiet in his movements in the manner of the perfect swordsman.
Stoutenburg, hot with rage, impetuous and clumsy, was at once at a
disadvantage whilst this foreign adventurer, entirely self-possessed and
good-humoured, had the art of the sword at his finger-tips--the art of
perfect self-control, the art of not rushing to the attack, the supreme
art of waiting for an opportunity.

No feint or thrust at first, only on guard, quietly on guard, and
Bucephalus seemed to be infinitely multiplied at times so quickly did
the bright st