But Halil Patrona's courage was quite equal even to such an invitation
as that, and he brought down the leaded stick in his hand so heavily on
the Janissary's head that the fellow's face was soon streaming with
blood.
Pelivan roared aloud at the blow, and, shaking his bloody forehead,
rushed upon Patrona like a wounded bear, and disregarding a couple of
fresh blows on the arms and shoulders which had the effect, however, of
making him drop his yataghan, he grasped his adversary with his gigantic
hands, lifted him up, and then hugged him with the embrace of a
boa-constrictor. But now it appeared that Patrona also was by no means a
novice in the art of self-defence, for clutching with both hands the
giant's throat, he squeezed it so tightly that in a few seconds the
Janissary began to stagger to and fro, finally falling backwards to the
ground, whereupon Patrona knelt upon his breast and plucked from his
beard a sufficient number of hairs to serve him as a souvenir. Pelivan,
overpowered by drink and the concussion of his fall, slumbered off where
he lay, while Patrona with his guest, who was already half-dead with
fright, hastened to reach his dwelling.
After traversing a labyrinth of narrow, meandering lanes, and
zig-zagging backwards and forwards through all kinds of gardens and
rookeries, Halil Patrona arrived at last at his own house.
Were we to speak of "his own street door," we should be betraying a
gross ignorance of locality, for in the place where Patrona lived the
mere idea of a street never presented itself to anybody's imagination.
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