The last speaker held forth a salver of such ample circumference that the two young men were fain to laugh.
“I’ faith, friend,” said the giant, with utmost good-humor, “we are more needing meat than dishes. Nevertheless, you have ta’en my measure rightly.”
His North-country accent proclaimed him a Yorkshire dalesman, and the White Rose was popular just then in Fleet Street.
“If that be so,” said the sturdy silversmith’s assistant who had hailed him, “you must hie to Smithfield, where they shall roast you a bullock.”
“Come wi’ me, then. Mayhap they need a puppy for the spit.”
The answer turned the laugh against the apprentice. He bravely endeavored to rally.
“I cry your honor’s pardon,” he said. “I looked not for brains where there was so much beef.”
“Therein you further showed your observation. Ofttimes the cockloft is empty in those whom nature hath built many stories high.”
Again the buoyant spirits of the Colossus won him the suffrages of the crowd. Clearly, he had an even temper in his great frame of bone and sinew, for the easy play of his limbs showed that, big as he was, he held no superfluous flesh, while the heat of the day left him unmoved, notwithstanding his heavy garments.
But his companion caught him by the arm.