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In truth, hardy as the man was, his neck
had been assuredly broken had he not pitched head first on the
very midriff of the drunken artist, who was slumbering so
peacefully in the corner, all unaware of these stirring doings.
The luckless limner, thus suddenly brought out from his dreams,
sat up with a piercing yell, while Hordle John bounded back into
the circle almost as rapidly as he had left it.
"One more fall, by all the saints!" he cried, throwing out his
arms.
"Not I," quoth the archer, pulling on his clothes, "I have come
well out of the business. I would sooner wrestle with the great
bear of Navarre."
"It was a trick," cried John.
"Aye was it. By my ten finger-bones! it is a trick that will add
a proper man to the ranks of the Company."
"Oh, for that," said the other, "I count it not a fly; for I had
promised myself a good hour ago that I should go with thee, since
the life seems to be a goodly and proper one. Yet I would fain
have had the feather-bed."
"I doubt it not, mon ami," quoth the archer, going back to his
tankard.


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