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BY
JOHN FOX, JR.
CONTENTS
``Here! Here!''
``And my sister.''
``Oh, I beg your pardon.'' He strode
away.
II
``Hello!''
III
IV
CLOSE QUARTERS
``How-dye-do?'' I said.
``A what?''
``Who's Mart?''
``What about?''
``What fer?''
So Mart--hard-working Mart--was
the Wild Dog, and he was content to do
the Blight all service without thanks,
merely for the privilege of secretly seeing
her face now and then; and yet he would
not look upon that face when she was a
guest under his roof and asleep.
V
BACK TO THE HILLS
VI
``You--just--let--them--alone,'' she
repeated.
``You!''
VII
AT LAST--THE TOURNAMENT
At last--the tournament!
Ever afterward the Hon. Samuel
Budd called it ``The Gentle and
Joyous Passage of Arms--not of Ashby--
but of the Gap, by-suh!'' The Hon.
Samuel had arranged it as nearly after Sir
Walter as possible. And a sudden leap it
was from the most modern of games to a
game most ancient.
``Look at my men-at-arms''--the
volunteer policemen with bulging hip-pockets,
dangling billies and gleaming shields of
office--``and at my refreshment tents behind''
--where peanuts and pink lemonade
were keeping the multitude busy--``and
my attendants''--colored gentlemen with
sponges and water-buckets--``the armorers
and farriers haven't come yet. But my
knight--I got his clothes in New York--
just wait--Love of Ladies and Glory to
the Brave!'' Just then there was a
commotion on the free seats on one side of
the grandstand. A darky starting, in all
ignorance, to mount them was stopped and
jostled none too good-naturedly back to the
ground.
``Largesse!'' I suggested.
``Wenchless springal!''
Just then my attention was riveted on
Mollie and little Buck. Both had been
staring silently at the knights as though
they were apparitions, but when Marston
faced them I saw Buck clutch his sister's
arm suddenly and say something excitedly
in her ear. Then the mouths of both tightened
fiercely and their eyes seemed to be
darting lightning at the unconscious knight,
who suddenly saw them, recognized them,
and smiled past them at me. Again Buck
whispered, and from his lips I could make
out what he said:
``Great!''
His question was genuine, for the mask
of humor had dropped and the man was
transformed. I knew his inner seriousness,
his oratorical command of good English,
and I knew the habit, not uncommon
among stump-speakers in the South, of
falling, through humor, carelessness, or for
the effect of flattering comradeship, into
all the lingual sins of rural speech; but I
was hardly prepared for the soaring flight
the Hon. Sam took now. He started with
one finger pointed heavenward:
``Eight seconds!''
``The Knight of the Cumberland wins,''
said the Hon. Sam.
``Unmask!'' I shouted.
VIII
THE END