Part 12 (1/2)
On this particular night he stood as usual at his forge--a great big, husky, bearded fellow in a red flannel unders.h.i.+rt bared at his brawny, hairy chest, and with sleeves rolled almost up to his shoulders to give the tremendous muscles of his arms full play.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Vulcan threatening his imps with a hot poker.]
He wore a round leather cap and had on a leather ap.r.o.n tied to his burly waist by leather thongs. Things needed touching up a bit, and he was getting busy.
”Where are those lazy 'prentices of mine?” he roared, in rumbling tones, as he pumped the bellows, while the flames in the forge leaped higher and higher. ”Spry, Flash, Nimble, Twist, and the rest of you--where are you, I say? Has my voice grown so weak, you rogues, that you cannot hear me? Come hither this instant!”
From all directions in response to the angry summons came imps in red attire that fitted their lithe, supple bodies as snugly as the skins of eels.
They somersaulted down the chimney, popped up like jack-in-th'-boxes from the earthen floor, and described parabolas through the air from the cavern's ceiling, grouping themselves humbly on their knees before their irate master, with their arms supplicatingly extended.
”Here at last, are you?” again roared Vulcan. ”And none too soon, either! Where have you been, imps? Idling your time away? Quick! heap coals on, all of you, or the fire will be out!”
Forthwith they flung b.a.l.l.s of living fire into the forge, and, as Vulcan pumped away at the bellows, he burst out in l.u.s.ty song:
”When the flames leap high From the crater to the sky I roll up my sleeves with delight; When the strongest buildings rock To the awful earthquake's shock The trembling millions all confess my might!”
The lightning flashed, the thunder crashed, and over all the storm was heard a voice calling: ”Vul-can! Vul-can!”
Vulcan stopped work while his imps crept stealthily toward the door to listen.
”Is Vulcan at his forge?” was shouted in the wind and rain outside, with the accompaniment of a terrific knock on the door.
”Who dares disturb me on my busy night?” cried Vulcan, in a towering pa.s.sion.
[Ill.u.s.tration: DRAGONFEL KNOCKING ON VULCAN'S DOOR.]
”It is I, Dragonfel, the enchanter,” said the voice placatingly.
”What brings you here?” asked Vulcan.
”I come on business of great import, mighty Vulcan!”
”Enter, then, and be brief,” said Vulcan, with scant hospitality.
”Remember I have work to do.”
Dragonfel and his followers thereupon appeared in the doorway, and came forward escorted by the imps who evinced the greatest curiosity in the strange, rain-soaked visitors.
When they were within respectful distance of Vulcan the enchanter sank on one knee before him, and the rest immediately followed his example.
”Why have you sought me out?” demanded Vulcan, with distrust and suspicion on his seamed, rugged face as he sharply eyed them.
”Oh, Vulcan,” spoke Dragonfel, in smooth, oily tones, ”powerful as I am, I acknowledge you my master. Who else can match you in your wondrous strength?”
”You've come for a favor!” grunted the other. ”Well, out with it!”
”I wish to tell you about the Brownies.”
”What about the Brownies?”