About noon
It is possible that I stuck my thumbs into my armpits and waggled my fingers . I do n't remember . But it 's no mean sensation to have pitted yourself against a strange god , with perfectly round heels , and to have won out . About noon , though , the god came back , fortified perhaps by reflection , and more certainly by a nigger who walked behind him with a spear . You 've seen the donkey boys in Cairo make the donkeys trot ? ... This time I put my trust in the Colt forty-five ; and looked the god over , as he came reluctantly nearer and nearer , singing a magic . Do you know the tragedian walk as taken off on the comic opera stage , the termination of each strutting , dragging step accentuated by cymbals smashed together F-F-F ?