Not all will be mentioned,but among them was the Knight of the Holston--Athelstanic in build--in black stockings,white negligee shirt,with Byronic collar,and a broad crimson sash tied with a bow at his right side.There was the Knight of the Green Valley,in green and gold,a green hat with a long white plume,lace ruffles at his sleeves,and buckles on dancing-pumps;a bonny fat knight of Maxwelton Braes,in Highland kilts and a plaid;and the Knight at Large.
"He ought to be caged,''murmured the Hon.Sam;for the Knight at Large wore plum-colored velvet,red base-ball stockings,held in place with safety-pins,white tennis shoes,and a very small hat with a very long plume,and the dye was already streaking his face.Marston was the last --sitting easily on his iron gray.
"And your name,Sir Knight?''
"The Discarded,''said Marston,with steady eyes.I felt the Blight start at my side and sidewise I saw that her face was crimson.
The Hon.Sam sat down,muttering,for he did not like Marston:
"Wenchless springal!''
Just then my attention was riveted on Mollie and little Buck.Both had been staring silently at the knights as though they were apparitions,but when Marston faced them I saw Buck clutch his sister's arm suddenly and say something excitedly in her ear.Then the mouths of both tightened fiercely and their eyes seemed to be darting lightning at the unconscious knight,who suddenly saw them,recognized them,and smiled past them at me.Again Buck whispered,and from his lips I could make out what he said:
"I wonder whar's Dave?''but Mollie did not answer.
"Which is yours,Mr.Budd?''asked the little sister.The Hon.Sam had leaned back with his thumbs in the arm-holes of his white waistcoat.
"He ain't come yet.I told him to come last.''
The crowd waited and the knights waited--so long that the Mayor rose in his seat some twenty feet away and called out:
"Go ahead,Budd.''
"You jus'wait a minute--my man ain't come yet,''he said easily,but from various places in the crowd came jeering shouts from the men with whom he had wagered and the Hon.Sam began to look anxious.
"I wonder what is the matter?''he added in a lower tone."I dressed him myself more than an hour ago and I told him to come last,but I didn't mean for him to wait till Christmas--ah!''
The Hon.Sam sank back in his seat again.From somewhere had come suddenly the blare of a solitary trumpet that rang in echoes around the amphitheatre of the hills and,a moment later,a dazzling something shot into sight above the mound that looked like a ball of fire,coming in mid-air.The new knight wore a shining helmet and the Hon.Sam chuckled at the murmur that rose and then he sat up suddenly.There was no face under that helmet--the Hon.Sam's knight was MASKED and the Hon.Sam slapped his thigh with delight.
"Bully--bully!I never thought of it --I never thought of it--bully!''
This was thrilling,indeed--but there was more;the strange knight's body was cased in a flexible suit of glistening mail,his spear point,when he raised it on high,shone like silver,and he came on like a radiant star--on the Hon.Sam's charger,white-bridled,with long mane and tail and black from tip of nose to tip of that tail as midnight.The Hon.Sam was certainly doing it well.At a slow walk the stranger drew alongside of Marston and turned his spear point downward.
"Gawd!''said an old darky."Ku-klux done come again.''And,indeed,it looked like a Ku-klux mask,white,dropping below the chin,and with eye-holes through which gleamed two bright fires.
The eyes of Buck and Mollie were turned from Marston at last,and open-mouthed they stared.
"Hit's the same hoss--hit's Dave!''said Buck aloud.
"Well,my Lord!''said Mollie simply.
The Hon.Sam rose again.
"And who is Sir Tardy Knight that hither comes with masked face?''he asked courteously.He got no answer.
"What's your name,son?''
The white mask puffed at the wearer's lips.
"The Knight of the Cumberland,''was the low,muffled reply.
"Make him take that thing off!''shouted some one.
"What's he got it on fer?''shouted another.
"I don't know,friend,''said the Hon.
Sam;"but it is not my business nor prithee thine;since by the laws of the tournament a knight may ride masked for a specified time or until a particular purpose is achieved,that purpose being,I wot,victory for himself and for me a handful of byzants from thee.''
"Now,go ahead,Budd,''called the Mayor again."Are you going crazy?''
The Hon.Sam stretched out his arms once to loosen them for gesture,thrust his chest out,and uplifted his chin:"Fair ladies,nobles of the realm,and good knights,''he said sonorously,and he raised one hand to his mouth and behind it spoke aside to me:
"How's my voice--how's my voice?''
"Great!''
His question was genuine,for the mask of humor had dropped and the man was transformed.I knew his inner seriousness,his oratorical command of good English,and I knew the habit,not uncommon among stump-speakers in the South,of falling,through humor,carelessness,or for the effect of flattering comradeship,into all the lingual sins of rural speech;but Iwas hardly prepared for the soaring flight the Hon.Sam took now.He started with one finger pointed heavenward:
"The knights are dust And their good swords are rast;Their souls are with the saints,we trust.
