The queen exclaimed:
"Alack, Sir Boss, wilt fight naked, and without lance or sword or--"
But the king checked her and made her understand, with a polite
phrase or two, that this was none of her business. The bugles
rang again; and we separated and rode to the ends of the lists,
and took position. Now old Merlin stepped into view and cast
a dainty web of gossamer threads over Sir Sagramor which turned
him into Hamlet's ghost; the king made a sign, the bugles blew,
Sir Sagramor laid his great lance in rest, and the next moment here
he came thundering down the course with his veil flying out behind,
and I went whistling through the air like an arrow to meet him
--cocking my ear the while, as if noting the invisible knight's
position and progress by hearing, not sight. A chorus of encouraging
shouts burst out for him, and one brave voice flung out a heartening
word for me--said:
"Go it, slim Jim!"
It was an even bet that Clarence had procured that favor for me
--and furnished the language, too. When that formidable lance-point
was within a yard and a half of my breast I twitched my horse aside
without an effort, and the big knight swept by, scoring a blank.
I got plenty of applause that time. We turned, braced up, and
down we came again. Another blank for the knight, a roar of
applause for me. This same thing was repeated once more; and
it fetched such a whirlwind of applause that Sir Sagramor lost his
temper, and at once changed his tactics and set himself the task
of chasing me down.
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