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.
"Here is to thee, lad, and may we be good comrades to each other! But, hola! what is it that ails our friend of the wrathful face ?" The unfortunate limner had been sitting up rubbing himself ruefully and staring about with a vacant gaze, which showed that he knew neither where he was nor what had occurred to him.