s distended; his legs, the left deformed
(being bent inward at the knee), were spread wide. In the shadows beyond
lurked a huge dog--a mighty, sullen beast, which came stepping up, with
lowered head, to peer at us from between his master's legs.

"I'll be scuttled," said the man, bringing his head forward with a jerk,
"if the little cock wouldn't cut into the trade o' Wayfarer's Tickle!"

Having thus in a measure mastered his amazement (and not waiting to be
bidden), he emerged from the obscurity of the doorway, advanced, limping
heavily, and sat himself in my father's chair, from which, his bandy
legs comfortably hanging from the table, where he had disposed his feet,
he regarded me in a way so sinister--with a glance so fixed and
ill-intentioned--that his great, hairy face, malformed and mottled, is
clear to me to this day, to its last pimple and wrinkle, its bulbous,
flaming nose and bloodshot eyes, as though 'twere yesterday I saw it.
And there he sat, puffing angrily, blowing his nose like a whale,
scowling, ejaculating, until (as I've no doubt) he conceived us to have
been reduced to a condition of trepidation wherein he might most easily
overmaster us.

"Scuttled!" he repeated, fetching his paunch a resounding thwack.
"Bored!"

Thereupon he drew from the depths of his trousers pocket a disreputable
clay pipe, filled it, got it alight, noisily puffed it, darting little
glances at my sister and me the while, in the way of one outraged--now
of reproach, now of righteous indignation, now betraying uttermost
disappointment--for all the world as though he had been pained to
surprise us in the thick of a conspiracy to wrong him, but, being of a
meek and most forgiving disposition, would overlook the offense, though
'twas beyond his power, however willing the spirit, to hide the wound
our guilt had dealt him. Whatever the object of this display, it gave me
a great itching to retreat behind my sister's skirts, for fear and
shame. And, as it appeared, he was quick to conjecture my feeling: for
at once he dropped the fantastic manner and proceeded to a quiet and
appallingly lucid statement of his business.

"I'm Jagger o' Wayfarer's Tickle," said he, "an' I'm come t' take over
this trade."

"'Tis not for sale," my sister answered.

"I wants the trade o' this harbour," said he, ignoring her, "on my
books. An' I got t' have it."

"We're wantin' my father's business," my sister persisted, but faintly
now, "for Davy,