The Broad Highway

"Looks as if 'e might take a good blow, ah! and give one,

for that matter," returned the Innkeeper, studying me with

half-closed eyes, and his head to one side, as I have seen

artists look at pictures. "He be pretty wide in the shoulders,

and full in the chest, and, by the look of him, quick on 'is

pins."

"You've been a fightin' man, Simon, and you ought to know--but

he've got summat better still."

"And what might that be, Gaffer?" inquired the Innkeeper.

"A good, straight, bright eye, Simon, wi' a look in it as says,

'I will!'"

"Ah! but what o' Jarge?" cried Job. "Black Jarge don't mind a

man's eyes, 'cept to black frequent; 'e don't mind nothin', nor

nobody."

"Job," said the Ancient, tapping his snuff-box, "theer's some

things as is better nor gert, big muscles, and gert, strong

fists--if you wasn't a danged fule you'd know what I mean.

Young man," he went on, turning to me, "you puts me in mind o'

what I were at your age though, to be sure, I were taller 'n you

by about five or six inches, maybe more--but don't go for to be

too cock-sure for all that. Black Jarge aren't to be sneezed

at."

"And, if you must 'it un," added the Innkeeper, "why, go for the

chin--theer aren't a better place to 'it a man than on the chin,

if so be you can thump it right--and 'ard enough. I mind 't was

so I put out Tom Brock o' Bedford--a sweet, pretty blow it were

too, though I do say it."

"Thank you!" said I; "should it come to fighting, which Heaven

forfend, I shall certainly remember your advice." Saying which,

I turned away, and crossed the road to the open door of the

smithy, very conscious of the three pairs of eyes that watched me

as I went.

Upon the threshold of the forge I paused to look about me, and

there, sure enough, was the smith. Indeed a fine, big fellow he

was, with great shoulders, and a mighty chest, and arms whose

bulging muscles showed to advantage in the red glow of the fire.

In his left hand he grasped a pair of tongs wherein was set a

glowing iron scroll, upon which he beat with the hammer in his

right. I stood watching until, having beaten out the glow from

the iron, he plunged the scroll back into the fire, and fell to

blowing with the bellows. But now, as I looked more closely at

him, I almost doubted if this could be Black George, after all,

for this man's hair was of a bright gold, and curled in tight

rings upon his brow, while, instead of the black, scowling visage

I had expected, I beheld a ruddy, open, well-featured face out of

which looked a pair of eyes of a blue you may sometimes see in a

summer sky at evening. And yet again, his massive size would

seem to proclaim him the famous Black George, and no other. It

was with something of doubt in my mind, nevertheless, that I

presently stepped into the smithy and accosted him.