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Updated: May 21, 2025
He took a step forward; paused with one knee bent and the other stiff; extended his right arm and shouted, "'The hand of Dooglas is his own, and never shall in friendly grasp the hand of sech as Marmyyon clasp." Well done, Ira! The proud Marmion must indeed have trembled until his armor rattled if the Scot bellowed at him in that way and shook a red wrister so violently under his very nose.
He paused, and to illustrate the imperious humor of the Scot, he waved his fingers and a red wrister at me. The gesture unnerved him for a moment, and he had to go thumbing over the page to find his place. He caught it again and chanted on "'At my sover-sover-yne's will. To each one whom he lists, however unmeet to be the owner's peer." Again the boy waved the fingers and the red wrister at me.
Again he paused, gathering himself for the climax. That gesture was abominable, but at such a time I dared not interrupt. "'My castles are my king's alone from turret to foundation stone," he cried. The red wrister flashed beneath my eye. Ira had even forgotten his book and let it fall to his side.
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