"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.