HOME again, at Camelot. A morning or two later I found the paper, damp from the press, by my plate at the breakfast table. I turned to the advertising columns, knowing I should find something of personal interest to me there. It was this:

DE PAR LE ROI.

Know that the great lord and illus-

trious Kni8ht, SIR SAGRAMOR LE

DESIROUS naving condescended to

meet the King's Minister, Hank Mor-

gan, the which is surnamed The Boss,

for satisfgction of offence anciently given,

these wilL engage in the lists by

Camelot about the fourth hour of the

morning of the sixteenth day of this

next succeeding month. The battle

will be a l outrance, sith the said offence

was of a deadly sort, admitting of no

comPosition.

DE PAR LE ROI

Clarence's editorial reference to this affair was to this

effect:

It will be observed, by a gl7nce at our

advertising columns, that the commu-

nity is to be favored with a treat of un-

usual interest in the tournament line.

The n ames of the artists are warrant of

good enterTemment. The box-office

will be open at noon of the 13th; ad-

mission 3 cents, reserved seatsh 5; pro-

ceeds to go to the hospital fund The

royal pair and all the Court will be pres-

ent. With these exceptions, and the

press and the clergy, the free list is strict-

ly susPended. Parties are hereby warn-

ed against buying tickets of speculators;

they will not be good at the door.

Everybody knows and likes The Boss,

everybody knows and likes Sir Sag.;

come, let us give the lads a good send-

off. ReMember, the proceeds go to a

great and free charity, and one whose

broad begevolence stretches out its help-

ing hand, warm with the blood of a lov-

ing heart, to all that suffer, regardless of

race, creed, condition or color--the

only charity yet established in the earth

which has no politico-religious stop-

cock on its compassion, but says Here

flows the stream, let ALL come and

drink! Turn out, all hands! fetch along

your dou3hnuts and your gum-drops

and have a good time. Pie for sale on

the grounds, and rocks to crack it with;

and ciRcus-lemonade--three drops of

lime juice to a barrel of water.

N.B. This is the first tournament

under the new law, whidh allow each

combatant to use any weapon he may pre-

fer. You may want to make a note of that.

Up to the day set, there was no talk in all Britain of

anything but this combat. All other topics sank into

insignificance and passed out of men's thoughts and

interest. It was not because a tournament was a great

matter, it was not because Sir Sagramor had found

the Holy Grail, for he had not, but had failed; it was

not because the second (official) personage in the kingdom was one of the duellists; no, all these features

were commonplace. Yet there was abundant reason

for the extraordinary interest which this coming fight

was creating. It was born of the fact that all the

nation knew that this was not to be a duel between

mere men, so to speak, but a duel between two mighty

magicians; a duel not of muscle but of mind, not of

human skill but of superhuman art and craft; a final

struggle for supremacy between the two master enchanters of the age. It was realized that the most

prodigious achievements of the most renowned knights

could not be worthy of comparison with a spectacle

like this; they could be but child's play, contrasted

with this mysterious and awful battle of the gods.

Yes, all the world knew it was going to be in reality a

duel between Merlin and me, a measuring of his magic

powers against mine. It was known that Merlin had

been busy whole days and nights together, imbuing Sir

Sagramor's arms and armor with supernal powers of

offense and defense, and that he had procured for him

from the spirits of the air a fleecy veil which would

render the wearer invisible to his antagonist while

still visible to other men. Against Sir Sagramor, so

weaponed and protected, a thousand knights could

accomplish nothing; against him no known enchantments could prevail. These facts were sure; regarding them there was no doubt, no reason for doubt.

There was but one question: might there be still other

enchantments, UNKNOWN to Merlin, which could render

Sir Sagramor's veil transparent to me, and make his

enchanted mail vulnerable to my weapons? This was

the one thing to be decided in the lists. Until then

the world must remain in suspense.

So the world thought there was a vast matter at stake

here, and the world was right, but it was not the one

they had in their minds. No, a far vaster one was

upon the cast of this die: THE LIFE OF KNIGHT-ERRANTRY.

I was a champion, it was true, but not the champion

of the frivolous black arts, I was the champion of hard

unsentimental common-sense and reason. I was entering the lists to either destroy knight-errantry or be its

victim.

Vast as the show-grounds were, there were no vacant

spaces in them outside of the lists, at ten o'clock on

the morning of the 16th. The mammoth grand-stand

was clothed in flags, streamers, and rich tapestries, and

packed with several acres of small-fry tributary kings,

their suites, and the British aristocracy; with our own

royal gang in the chief place, and each and every

individual a flashing prism of gaudy silks and velvets --

well, I never saw anything to begin with it but a fight

between an Upper Mississippi sunset and the aurora

borealis. The huge camp of beflagged and gaycolored tents at one end of the lists, with a stiffstanding sentinel at every door and a shining shield

hanging by him for challenge, was another fine sight.

You see, every knight was there who had any ambition

or any caste feeling; for my feeling toward their order

was not much of a secret, and so here was their

chance. If I won my fight with Sir Sagramor, others

would have the right to call me out as long as I might

be willing to respond.

Down at our end there were but two tents; one for

me, and another for my servants. At the appointed

hour the king made a sign, and the heralds, in their

tabards, appeared and made proclamation, naming the

combatants and stating the cause of quarrel. There

was a pause, then a ringing bugle-blast, which was the

signal for us to come forth. All the multitude caught

their breath, and an eager curiosity flashed into every

face.

Out from his tent rode great Sir Sagramor, an imposing tower of iron, stately and rigid, his huge spear

standing upright in its socket and grasped in his strong

hand, his grand horse's face and breast cased in steel,

his body clothed in rich trappings that almost dragged

the ground -- oh, a most noble picture. A great shout

went up, of welcome and admiration.

And then out I came. But I didn't get any shout.

There was a wondering and eloquent silence for a moment, then a great wave of laughter began to sweep

along that human sea, but a warning bugle-blast cut its

career short. I was in the simplest and comfortablest

of gymnast costumes -- flesh-colored tights from neck

to heel, with blue silk puffings about my loins, and

bareheaded. My horse was not above medium size,

but he was alert, slender-limbed, muscled with watchsprings, and just a greyhound to go. He was a beauty,

glossy as silk, and naked as he was when he was born,

except for bridle and ranger-saddle.

The iron tower and the gorgeous bedquilt came

cumbrously but gracefully pirouetting down the lists,

and we tripped lightly up to meet them. We halted;

the tower saluted, I responded; then we wheeled and

rode side by side to the grand-stand and faced our king

and queen, to whom we made obeisance. The queen

exclaimed:

"Alack, Sir Boss, wilt fight naked, and without

lance or sword or --"

But the king checked her and made her understand,

with a polite phrase or two, that this was none of her

business. The bugles rang again; and we separated

and rode to the ends of the lists, and took position.

Now old Merlin stepped into view and cast a dainty

web of gossamer threads over Sir Sagramor which

turned him into Hamlet's ghost; the king made a

sign, the bugles blew, Sir Sagramor laid his great

lance in rest, and the next moment here he came

thundering down the course with his veil flying out

behind, and I went whistling through the air like an

arrow to meet him -- cocking my ear the while, as if

noting the invisible knight's position and progress by

hearing, not sight. A chorus of encouraging shouts

burst out for him, and one brave voice flung out a

heartening word for me -- said:

"Go it, slim Jim!"

It was an even bet that Clarence had procured that

favor for me -- and furnished the language, too. When

that formidable lance-point was within a yard and a

half of my breast I twitched my horse aside without an

effort, and the big knight swept by, scoring a blank.

I got plenty of applause that time. We turned,

braced up, and down we came again. Another blank

for the knight, a roar of applause for me. This same

thing was repeated once more; and it fetched such a

whirlwind of applause that Sir Sagramor lost his

temper, and at once changed his tactics and set himself the task of chasing me down. Why, he hadn't

any show in the world at that; it was a game of tag,

with all the advantage on my side; I whirled out of

his path with ease whenever I chose, and once I

slapped him on the back as I went to the rear. Finally

I took the chase into my own hands; and after that,

turn, or twist, or do what he would, he was never able

to get behind me again; he found himself always in

front at the end of his maneuver. So he gave up that

business and retired to his end of the lists. His temper

was clear gone now, and he forgot himself and flung

an insult at me which disposed of mine. I slipped my

lasso from the horn of my saddle, and grasped the coil

in my right hand. This time you should have seen

him come! -- it was a business trip, sure; by his gait

there was blood in his eye. I was sitting my horse at

ease, and swinging the great loop of my lasso in wide

circles about my head; the moment he was under way,

I started for him; when the space between us had

narrowed to forty feet, I sent the snaky spirals of the

rope a-cleaving through the air, then darted aside and

faced about and brought my trained animal to a halt

with all his feet braced under him for a surge. The

next moment the rope sprang taut and yanked Sir

Sagramor out of the saddle! Great Scott, but there

was a sensation!

Unquestionably, the popular thing in this world is

novelty. These people had never seen anything of

that cowboy business before, and it carried them clear

off their feet with delight. From all around and everywhere, the shout went up:

"Encore! encore!"

I wondered where they got the word, but there was

no time to cipher on philological matters, because the

whole knight-errantry hive was just humming now, and

my prospect for trade couldn't have been better. The

moment my lasso was released and Sir Sagramor had

been assisted to his tent, I hauled in the slack, took

my station and began to swing my loop around my

head again. I was sure to have use for it as soon as

they could elect a successor for Sir Sagramor, and

that couldn't take long where there were so many

hungry candidates. Indeed, they elected one straight

off -- Sir Hervis de Revel.

BZZ! Here he came, like a house afire; I dodged:

he passed like a flash, with my horse-hair coils settling

around his neck; a second or so later, FST! his saddle

was empty.

I got another encore; and another, and another, and

still another. When I had snaked five men out, things

began to look serious to the ironclads, and they

stopped and consulted together. As a result, they decided that it was time to waive etiquette and send their

greatest and best against me. To the astonishment of

that little world, I lassoed Sir Lamorak de Galis, and

after him Sir Galahad. So you see there was simply

nothing to be done now, but play their right bower --

bring out the superbest of the superb, the mightiest of

the mighty, the great Sir Launcelot himself!

A proud moment for me? I should think so.

Yonder was Arthur, King of Britain; yonder was

Guenever; yes, and whole tribes of little provincial

kings and kinglets; and in the tented camp yonder,

renowned knights from many lands; and likewise the

selectest body known to chivalry, the Knights of the

Table Round, the most illustrious in Christendom; and

biggest fact of all, the very sun of their shining system

was yonder couching his lance, the focal point of forty

thousand adoring eyes; and all by myself, here was I

laying for him. Across my mind flitted the dear

image of a certain hello-girl of West Hartford, and I

wished she could see me now. In that moment, down

came the Invincible, with the rush of a whirlwind --

the courtly world rose to its feet and bent forward --

the fateful coils went circling through the air, and

before you could wink I was towing Sir Launcelot

across the field on his back, and kissing my hand to

the storm of waving kerchiefs and the thunder-crash of

applause that greeted me!

Said I to myself, as I coiled my lariat and hung it on

my saddle-horn, and sat there drunk with glory, "The

victory is perfect -- no other will venture against me --

knight-errantry is dead." Now imagine my astonishment -- and everybody else's, too -- to hear the peculiar

bugle-call which announces that another competitor is

about to enter the lists! There was a mystery here; I

couldn't account for this thing. Next, I noticed Merlin gliding away from me; and then I noticed that my

lasso was gone! The old sleight-of-hand expert had

stolen it, sure, and slipped it under his robe.

The bugle blew again. I looked, and down came

Sagramor riding again, with his dust brushed off and

is veil nicely re-arranged. I trotted up to meet him,

and pretended to find him by the sound of his horse's

hoofs. He said:

"Thou'rt quick of ear, but it will not save thee from

this!" and he touched the hilt of his great sword .

"An ye are not able to see it, because of the influence

of the veil, know that it is no cumbrous lance, but a

sword -- and I ween ye will not be able to avoid it."

His visor was up; there was death in his smile. I

should never be able to dodge his sword, that was

plain. Somebody was going to die this time. If he

got the drop on me, I could name the corpse. We

rode forward together, and saluted the royalties. This

time the king was disturbed. He said:

"Where is thy strange weapon?"

"It is stolen, sire."

"Hast another at hand?"

"No, sire, I brought only the one."

Then Merlin mixed in:

"He brought but the one because there was but the

one to bring. There exists none other but that one.

It belongeth to the king of the Demons of the Sea.

This man is a pretender, and ignorant, else he had

known that that weapon can be used in but eight

bouts only, and then it vanisheth away to its home

under the sea."

"Then is he weaponless," said the king. "Sir

Sagramore, ye will grant him leave to borrow."

"And I will lend!" said Sir Launcelot, limping

up. "He is as brave a knight of his hands as any

that be on live, and he shall have mine."

He put his hand on his sword to draw it, but Sir

Sagramor said:

"Stay, it may not be. He shall fight with his own

weapons; it was his privilege to choose them and bring

them. If he has erred, on his head be it."

"Knight!" said the king. "Thou'rt overwrought

with passion; it disorders thy mind. Wouldst kill a

naked man?"

"An he do it, he shall answer it to me," said Sir

Launcelot.

"I will answer it to any he that desireth!" retorted

Sir Sagramor hotly.

Merlin broke in, rubbing his hands and smiling his

lowdownest smile of malicious gratification:

"'Tis well said, right well said! And 'tis enough

of parleying, let my lord the king deliver the battle

signal."

The king had to yield. The bugle made proclamation, and we turned apart and rode to our stations.

There we stood, a hundred yards apart, facing each

other, rigid and motionless, like horsed statues. And

so we remained, in a soundless hush, as much as a full

minute, everybody gazing, nobody stirring. It seemed

as if the king could not take heart to give the signal.

But at last he lifted his hand, the clear note of the

bugle followed, Sir Sagramor's long blade described a

flashing curve in the air, and it was superb to see him

come. I sat still. On he came. I did not move.

People got so excited that they shouted to me:

"Fly, fly! Save thyself! This is murther!"

I never budged so much as an inch till that thunderng apparition had got within fifteen paces of me; then

I snatched a dragoon revolver out of my holster, there

was a flash and a roar, and the revolver was back in

the holster before anybody could tell what had happened.

Here was a riderless horse plunging by, and yonder

lay Sir Sagramor, stone dead.

The people that ran to him were stricken dumb to

find that the life was actually gone out of the man and

no reason for it visible, no hurt upon his body, nothing

like a wound. There was a hole through the breast of

his chain-mail, but they attached no importance to a

little thing like that; and as a bullet wound there produces but little blood, none came in sight because of

the clothing and swaddlings under the armor. The

body was dragged over to let the king and the swells

look down upon it. They were stupefied with astonishment naturally. I was requested to come and explain the miracle. But I remained in my tracks, like

a statue, and said:

"If it is a command, I will come, but my lord the

king knows that I am where the laws of combat require

me to remain while any desire to come against me."

I waited. Nobody challenged. Then I said:

"If there are any who doubt that this field is well

and fairly won, I do not wait for them to challenge

me, I challenge them."

"It is a gallant offer," said the king, "and well beseems you. Whom will you name first?"

"I name none, I challenge all! Here I stand, and

dare the chivalry of England to come against me -- not

by individuals, but in mass!"

"What!" shouted a score of knights.

"You have heard the challenge. Take it, or I proclaim you recreant knights and vanquished, every

one!"

It was a "bluff" you know. At such a time it is

sound judgment to put on a bold face and play your

hand for a hundred times what it is worth; forty-nine

times out of fifty nobody dares to "call," and you

rake in the chips. But just this once -- well, things

looked squally! In just no time, five hundred knights

were scrambling into their saddles, and before you

could wink a widely scattering drove were under way

and clattering down upon me. I snatched both revolvers from the holsters and began to measure distances

and calculate chances.

Bang! One saddle empty. Bang! another one.

Bang -- bang, and I bagged two. Well, it was nip and

tuck with us, and I knew it. If I spent the eleventh

shot without convincing these people, the twelfth man

would kill me, sure. And so I never did feel so happy

as I did when my ninth downed its man and I detected

the wavering in the crowd which is premonitory of

panic. An instant lost now could knock out my last

chance. But I didn't lose it. I raised both revolvers

and pointed them -- the halted host stood their ground

just about one good square moment, then broke and

fled.

The day was mine. Knight-errantry was a doomed

institution. The march of civilization was begun.

How did I feel? Ah, you never could imagine it.

And Brer Merlin? His stock was flat again. Somehow, every time the magic of fol-de-rol tried conclusions with the magic of science, the magic of fol-de-rol

got left.