tock of his information the fact that, as the challenged party, he had the
choice of time, place and weapons.

He was naturally a little perturbed at first, for the most formidable
warrior that he ever remembered fighting was his little sister, whose hair
he had pulled when they were children, and the biggest thing he had ever
killed was undoubtedly the hen that he had run over on the Boodle Road. He
felt inclined, therefore, in the first flush of terror, to propose as the
time 1925, as the place Puddlesby Football Field, and as the weapon,
motor-tyre valve pins, at two hundred yards. He even got as far as
mentioning these conditions to his friend Sir Hugh the Hairy, who, however,
did not seem particularly struck with the suggestion, but made a counter-
proposal of maces on horseback at the neighbouring lists in three days'
time.

Before our hero knew what he was about he found that he had agreed. He got
through a deal of heavy thinking on his way home to his castle, but had
fortunately completed his plan of campaign before he arrived, for the
esquire of his enemy was awaiting him there, demanding to know the details
of the coming contest. He made the conditions suggested by Sir Hugh, merely
adding that the maces must be smooth and not knobbed, as was customary in
the better-class combats of that day.

He then began to make his preparations. At first he was considerably
depressed by the entire absence of all rubber, until dire necessity
compelled him to find a serviceable substitute in the shape of untanned
ox-skins. These he carefully sewed together with his own knightly hands,
coating the stitches over with pitch and resin. He was a good workman and
did not fail to be ready in time.

When the hour of combat arrived he vanished into the painted pavilion
reserved for him at one end of the lists, accompanied only by his faithful
esquire. Hastily he donned his suiting of reinforced ox-hide, which covered
the whole of his person from head to foot, and hung stiffly in folds all
round him. Then, holding out a metal tube which was attached to the front
of the costume, he presented it to his esquire, saying in the vernacular of
those stout times--

"Ho, varlet! Blow me down yon hole till there be no more breath in thy vile
bodie. Blow me hard and leally. Blow an thou burst in ye blowinge."

Whereupon the trusty varlet blew.

Thus it fell out that when the trumpet sounded and the Black Baron of
Beaumaris, his foe, rode f