And then they all three cried, Sir Knight,
we yield us unto you as man of might matchless.
As to that, said Sir Launcelot, I will not take
your yielding unto me, but so that ye yield you
unto Sir Kay the seneschal, on that covenant I
will save your lives and else not. Fair knight,
said they, that were we loath to do; for as for
Sir Kay we chased him hither, and had overcome
him had ye not been; therefore, to yield us unto
him it were no reason. Well, as to that, said
Sir Launcelot, advise you well, for ye may choose
whether ye will die or live, for an ye be yielden,
it shall be unto Sir Kay. Fair knight, then
they said, in saving our lives we will do as thou
commandest us. Then shall ye, said Sir Launcelot,
on Whitsunday next coming go unto the court of
King Arthur, and there shall ye yield you unto
Queen Guenever, and put you all three in her grace
and mercy, and say that Sir Kay sent you thither
to be her prisoners. On the morn Sir Launcelot
arose early, and left Sir Kay sleeping; and Sir
Launcelot took Sir Kay’s armor and his shield
and armed him, and so he went to the stable and
took his horse, and took his leave of his host,
and so he departed. Then soon after arose
Sir Kay and missed Sir Launcelot; and then he espied
that he had his armor and his horse. Now by
my faith I know well that he will grieve some of
the court of King Arthur; for on him knights will
be bold, and deem that it is I, and that will beguile
them; and because of his armor and shield I am
sure I shall ride in peace. And then soon
after departed Sir Kay, and thanked his host.
As I laid the book down there was a knock at the door,
and my stranger came in. I gave him a pipe and
a chair, and made him welcome. I also comforted
him with a hot Scotch whisky; gave him another one;
then still another—hoping always for his
story. After a fourth persuader, he drifted into
it himself, in a quite simple and natural way:
I am an American. I was born and reared in Hartford,
in the State of Connecticut—anyway, just
over the river, in the country. So I am a Yankee
of the Yankees—and practical; yes, and nearly
barren of sentiment, I suppose—or poetry,
in other words. My father was a blacksmith,
my uncle was a horse doctor, and I was both, along
at first. Then I went over to the great arms
factory and learned my real trade; learned all there
was to it; learned to make everything: guns,
revolvers, cannon, boilers, engines, all sorts of
labor-saving machinery. Why, I could make anything
a body wanted—anything in the world, it
didn’t make any difference what; and if there
wasn’t any quick new-fangled way to make a thing,
I could invent one—and do it as easy as
rolling off a log. I became head superintendent;
had a couple of thousand men under me.
