CHAPTER LVI
A Scene In Tee Land Of Warwicks, Or King-Makers


Wending our way from the temple, we were accompanied by a fluent,
obstreperous wight, one Znobbi, a runaway native of Porpheero, but now
an enthusiastic inhabitant of Vivenza.

"Here comes our great chief!" he cried. "Behold him! It was _I_ that
had a hand in making him what he is!"

And so saying, he pointed out a personage, no way distinguished,
except by the tattooing on his forehead--stars, thirty in number; and
an uncommonly long spear in his hand. Freely he mingled with the
crowd.

"Behold, how familiar I am with him!" cried Znobbi, approaching, and
pitcher-wise taking him by the handle of his face.

"Friend," said the dignitary, "thy salute is peculiar, but welcome. I
reverence the enlightened people of this land."

"Mean-spirited hound!" muttered Media, "were I him, I had impaled that
audacious plebeian."

"There's a Head-Chief for you, now, my fine fellow!" cried Znobbi.
"Hurrah! Three cheers! Ay, ay! All kings here--all equal. Every
thing's in common."