"Sayers. His is a good hand for dusting off flies," laughed one of the men beside him, willing to get some sport out of this madman.
"Flies! To judge by my head he must have fancied he saw a bullock before him. Lucky I dodged somewhat, or I'd have no head for flies to settle on. And who is the gentleman with the voice of thunder?"
"That's Watson."
"It's a good voice, but there's no music in it. You have never heard him sing, eh?"
"Aye, but I have. He can roar a fine stave about wine and women."
"I'll go and ask him to favour us," said Martin, jerking his horse forward.
"Stay where you are," and the man's hand shot out to the horse's bridle.
"Very well, very well, if you like my company so much. It's a strange thing that they should put wine and women into the same song."
"Strange, you fool! Strong enough and beautiful enough, are they not both intoxicating?"
"I know not," Martin answered. "I have no experience of strong women."