“Nay, if thou gettest out of thyself, thou wouldst be beside thyself, and so wert but a mad giant.”
“And that were pity,” said Lady Bath; “for by the romances, giants have never overmuch wit to spare.”
“Mercy, dear lady!” said Frank, “and let the giant begin with an O.”
“A ——”
“A false start, giant! you were to begin with an O.”
“I'll make you end with an O, Mr. William Cary!” roared the testy tower of buckram.
“And so I do, for I end with 'Fico!'”
“Be mollified, sweet giant,” said Frank, “and spare the rash youth of yon foolish knight. Shall elephants catch flies, or Hurlo-Thrumbo stain his club with brains of Dagonet the jester? Be mollified; leave thy caverned grumblings, like Etna when its windy wrath is past, and discourse eloquence from thy central omphalos, like Pythoness ventriloquizing.”
“If you do begin laughing at me too, Mr. Leigh ——” said the giant's clock-face, in a piteous tone.
“I laugh not. Art thou not Ordulf the earl, and I thy humblest squire? Speak up, my lord; your cousin, my Lady Bath, commands you.”