"Let me hear it?" says Skapti.
"I wish to beg thee for thy help, that thou wilt stand by us in our suit."
"One thing I had hoped," says Skapti, "and that is, that neither you nor your troubles would ever come into my dwelling."
"Such things are ill-spoken," says Asgrim, "when a man is the last to help others, when most lies on his aid."
"Who is yon man," says Skapti, "before whom four men walk, a big burly man, and pale-faced, unlucky-looking, well-knit, and troll-like?"
"My name is Skarphedinn," he answers, "and thou hast often seen me at the Thing; but in this I am wiser than you, that I have no need to ask what thy name is. Thy name is Skapti Thorod's son, but before thou calledst thyself `Bristlepoll,' after thou hadst slain Kettle of Elda; then thou shavedst thy poll, and puttedst pitch on thy head, and then thou hiredst thralls to cut up a sod of turf, and thou creptest underneath it to spend the night. After that thou wentest to Thorolf Lopt's son of Eyrar, and he took thee on board, and bore thee out here in his meal sacks."
After that Asgrim and his band went out, and Skarphedinn asked,
"Whither shall we go now?"
"To Snorri the Priest's booth," says Asgrim.
Then they went to Snorri's booth. There was a man outside before the booth, and Asgrim asked whether Snorri were in the booth.
The man said he was.