The Thousand and One Bottles

           Soitwasthatonthetwenty-ninthdayofFebruary,atthebeginningofthethaw,thissingularpersonfelloutofinfinityintoIpingvillage. Nextdayhisluggagearrivedthroughtheslush—andveryremarkableluggageitwas. Therewereacoupleoftrunksindeed,suchasarationalmanmightneed,butinadditiontherewereaboxofbooks—big,fatbooks,ofwhichsomewerejustinanincomprehensiblehandwriting—andadozenormorecrates,boxes,andcases,containingobjectspackedinstraw,asitseemedtoHall,tuggingwithacasualcuriosityatthestraw—glassbottles. Thestranger,muffledinhat,coat,gloves,andwrapper,cameoutimpatientlytomeetFearenside'scart,whileHallwashavingawordorsoofgossippreparatorytohelpingbringthemin. Outhecame,notnoticingFearenside'sdog,whowassniffinginadilettantespiritatHall'slegs. "Comealongwiththoseboxes,"hesaid."I'vebeenwaitinglongenough." 

           Andhecamedownthestepstowardsthetailofthecartasiftolayhandsonthesmallercrate. 

           NosoonerhadFearenside'sdogcaughtsightofhim,however,thanitbegantobristleandgrowlsavagely,andwhenherusheddownthestepsitgaveanundecidedhop,andthensprangstraightathishand. "Whup!"criedHall,jumpingback,forhewasnoherowithdogs,andFearensidehowled, "Liedown!"andsnatchedhiswhip. 

           Theysawthedog'steethhadslippedthehand,heardakick,sawthedogexecuteaflankingjumpandgethomeonthestranger'sleg,andheardtheripofhistrousering. ThenthefinerendofFearenside'swhipreachedhisproperty,andthedog,yelpingwithdismay,retreatedunderthewheelsofthewaggon. Itwasallthebusinessofaswifthalf-minute. Noonespoke,everyoneshouted.