“We are getting very hungry,” said one of the others at length.

“Very hungry indeed!” cried another.  “Some of us have not tasted food these three days.”

“It certainly does seem hard,” said yet another, “to see our dinner before us and not be allowed to touch it.”

“Not so fast, my friends, I beg,” exclaimed the man with the knife.  “I have already explained the case, and I do think you are a little unfair in pressing me as you do.”

Thus rebuked they consulted together, then one of them spoke.  “If, sir, you consider us unfair, or that we have not full confidence in you, would it not be as well to get some other person to take your place?”

“Yes, I am ready to do that,” returned the important one promptly; and here, drawing forth the knife once more, he held it out towards them.  But instead of coming forward to take it they all recoiled some steps, showing considerable alarm.  And then they all began protesting that they were not complaining of him, that they were satisfied with their choice, and could not have put the matter in abler hands.

“I am pleased at your good opinion,” said the important one.  “I may tell you that I am no chicken.  I first saw the light in September, 1739, and, as you know, we are now within seven months and thirteen days of the end of the first decade of the second half of the nineteenth century.  You may infer from this that I have had a pretty extensive experience, and I promise you that when I come to cut the body up you will not be able to say that I have made an unfair distribution, or that any one has been left without his portion.”

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All murmured approval, and then one of the company asked if he would be allowed to bespeak the liver for his share.

“No, sir, certainly not,” replied the other.  “Such matters must be left to my discretion entirely, and I must also remind you that there is such a thing as the carver’s privilege, and it is possible that in this instance he may think fit to retain the liver for his own consumption.”

After thus asserting himself he began to examine the blade of his knife which he still held in his hand, and to breathe gently on it, and wipe it with his handkerchief to make it shine brighter in the sun.  Finally, raising his arm, he flourished it and then made two or three stabs and lunges in the air, then walking on tiptoe he adyanced to Martin lying so still on the yellow grass in the midst of that black-robed company, the hot sun shining on his naked white body.

The others all immediately pressed forward, craning their necks and looking highly excited:  they were expecting great things; but when the man with a knife had got quite close to Martin he was seized with fear and made two or three long jumps back to where the others were; and then, recovering from his alarm, he quietly put back the knife under his coat.

“We really thought you were going to begin,” said one of the crowd.