Then was Little John right mad, and he brought down his huge fist on the door-panel with a sledge-hammer blow that shivered an opening you could thrust your hand into. Little John stooped and peered through the hole to see what food lay within reach, when crack! went the steward’s keys upon his crown, and the worthy danced around him playing a tattoo that made Little John’s ears ring. At this he turned upon the steward and gave him such a rap that his back went nigh in two, and over went the fat fellow rolling on the floor. “Lie there,” quoth Little John, “till ye find strength to go to bed. Meanwhile, I must be about my dinner.” And he kicked open the buttery door without ceremony and brought to light a venison pasty and cold roast pheasant--goodly sights to a hungry man. Placing these down on a convenient shelf he fell to with right good will. So Little John ate and drank as much as he would. Now the Sheriff had in his kitchen a cook, a stout man and bold, who heard the rumpus and came in to see how the land lay. There sat Little John eating away for dear life, while the fat steward was rolled under the table like a bundle of rags. “I make my vow!” said the cook, “you are a shrewd hind to dwell thus in a household, and ask thus to dine.” So saying he laid aside his spit and drew a good sword that hung at his side. “I make my vow!” said Little John, “you are a bold man and hardy to come thus between me and my meat. So defend yourself and see that you prove the better man.” And he drew his own sword and crossed weapons with the cook. Then back and forth they clashed with sullen sound. The old ballad which tells of their fight says that they thought nothing for to flee, but stiffly for to stand. There they fought sore together, two miles away and more, but neither might the other harm for the space of a full hour. “I make my vow!” cried Little John, “you are the best swordsman that ever yet I saw. What say you to resting a space and eating and drinking good health with me. Then we may fall to again with the swords.” “Agreed!” said the cook, who loved good fare as well as a good fight; and they both laid by their swords and fell to the food with hearty will. The venison pasty soon disappeared, and the roast pheasant flew at as lively a rate as ever the bird itself had sped. Then the warriors rested a space and patted their stomachs, and smiled across at each other like bosom friends; for a man when he as dined looks out pleasantly upon the world. “And now good Reynold Greenleaf,” said the cook, “we may as well settle this brave fight we have in hand.” “A true saying,” rejoined the other, “but first tell me, friend--for I protest you are my friend henceforth--what is the score we have to settle?” “Naught save who can handle the sword best,” said the cook. “By my troth I had thought to carve you like a capon ere now.”