“But the most astonishing incident is yet to come,” resumed Peter Sharp, wiping the ale-foam from his lips. “No sooner did King Lud see what was going forward than along he shambled slowly toward the clownish fellow, and, standing up on his hind legs, put a great paw on each of the little man’s shoulders, and looked at him in a most friendly way as dogs do. Whereat the mountebank dropped his whip and spoke to his superior officer, as I took the other to be. Then Sir Soldier, drawing out a fat purse and turning to the Master of the Sports, who was even now coming into the ring in great dismay, nodded and delivered the purse into his hands. At that the stout retainer made a comical bow to all the people around the ring, as who should say, ‘I hope we have amused you,’ and, leading King Lud by his chain, calmly walked out of the arena. From this we felt all the more sure that it had been part of the performance. But I could not believe that the angry and amazed looks of him who had been flogged in Bruin’s place, and of the wards, were feigned. Moreover, when the tall man left, he says to us all: ‘Call ye yourselves men and watch such sports as these? Get ye to your kennels with the other dogs.’ Whereupon he, too, walked from the ring slowly. It was all done with such despatch by him, and such a ready wit by his servant, that they befooled us utterly. Thinking it a comicality, no man in all the audience took action, and the few below us in the ring, being so terrified and bewildered by the sudden remonstrance and show of arms, stood dumfounded. But even then, I think, they might have regained their senses in time to send the twain to jail had not the Master of the Sports advised against pursuit, being, as I believe, well requited for King Lud and not unfamiliar with his purchaser.” The needle-maker raised his cup and drank deep, while a buzz of conversation began about him. A look of unspeakable relief had come to the faces of the soldier and the poet in the corner. Toward this pair the eyes of a group across the room were frequently directed. Among the latter company one figure was particularly noticeable, being that of a very young man, of medium size, bearing himself not ungracefully, and wearing a riding-cloak thrown off over one shoulder above an inconspicuous doublet of dark red satin, which, together with his silken hose and velvet, befeathered hat, revealed the civilian. The man nearest to him, many years his senior, was, by name, Sir Walter St. Magil; by profession, unmistakably a soldier. He, too, was of medium height and aristocratic carriage, though with a face rendered exceedingly ill-appearing by a cast in one of his eyes which drew the pupil so far in toward the nose as to leave but a half of it visible.