THE OGRE’S CASTLE
Between six and nine we made ten miles, which was
plenty for a horse carrying triple—man,
woman, and armor; then we stopped for a long nooning
under some trees by a limpid brook.
Right so came by and by a knight riding; and as he
drew near he made dolorous moan, and by the words
of it I perceived that he was cursing and swearing;
yet nevertheless was I glad of his coming, for that
I saw he bore a bulletin-board whereon in letters
all of shining gold was writ:
“USE PETERSON’S
PROPHYLACTIC TOOTH-BRUSH—ALL THE GO.”
I was glad of his coming, for even by this token I
knew him for knight of mine. It was Sir Madok
de la Montaine, a burly great fellow whose chief distinction
was that he had come within an ace of sending Sir
Launcelot down over his horse-tail once. He was
never long in a stranger’s presence without finding
some pretext or other to let out that great fact.
But there was another fact of nearly the same size,
which he never pushed upon anybody unasked, and yet
never withheld when asked: that was, that the
reason he didn’t quite succeed was, that he
was interrupted and sent down over horse-tail himself.
This innocent vast lubber did not see any particular
difference between the two facts. I liked him,
for he was earnest in his work, and very valuable.
And he was so fine to look at, with his broad mailed
shoulders, and the grand leonine set of his plumed
head, and his big shield with its quaint device of
a gauntleted hand clutching a prophylactic tooth-brush,
with motto: “Try Noyoudont.”
This was a tooth-wash that I was introducing.
He was aweary, he said, and indeed he looked it; but
he would not alight. He said he was after the
stove-polish man; and with this he broke out cursing
and swearing anew. The bulletin-boarder referred
to was Sir Ossaise of Surluse, a brave knight, and
of considerable celebrity on account of his having
tried conclusions in a tournament once, with no less
a Mogul than Sir Gaheris himself—although
not successfully. He was of a light and laughing
disposition, and to him nothing in this world was serious.
It was for this reason that I had chosen him to work
up a stove-polish sentiment. There were no stoves
yet, and so there could be nothing serious about stove-polish.
All that the agent needed to do was to deftly and
by degrees prepare the public for the great change,
and have them established in predilections toward neatness
against the time when the stove should appear upon
the stage.
