"Young David in Saul's weapons," said Frank. "He had better not go in
them, for he certainly has not proved them."
"Look, if his third leg is not turned into a tail! Why does not some one
in charity haul in half-a-yard of his belt for him?"
It was too true; the sword, after being kicked out three or four times
from its uncomfortable post between his legs, had returned unconquered;
and the hilt getting a little too far back by reason of the too great
length of the belt, the weapon took up its post triumphantly behind,
standing out point in air, a tail confest, amid the tittering of the
ostlers, and the cheers of the sailors.
At last the poor man, by dint of a chair, was mounted safely, while his
fellow-stranger, a burly, coarse-looking man, equally gay, and rather
more handy, made so fierce a rush at his saddle, that, like "vaulting
ambition who o'erleaps his selle," he "fell on t'other side:" or would
have fallen, had he not been brought up short by the shoulders of the
ostler at his off-stirrup. In which shock off came hat and feather.
"Pardie, the bulldog-faced one is a fighting man. Dost see, Frank? he
has had his head broken."
"That scar came not, my son, but by a pair of most Catholic and
apostolic scissors. My gentle buzzard, that is a priest's tonsure.
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