“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?”