"Are you Black George?" I inquired. At the sound of my voice, he
let go the handle of the bellows, and turned; as I watched, I saw
his brows draw suddenly together, while the golden hairs of his
beard seemed to curl upward.
"Suppose I be?"
"Then I wish to speak with you."
"Be that what you'm come for?"
"Yes."
"Be you come far?"
"Yes."
"That's a pity."
"Why?"
"'Cause you'll 'ave a good way to go back again."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, for one thing, I means as I don't like your looks, my
chap."
And why don't you like my looks?"
"Lord!" exclaimed the smith, "'ow should I know--but I don't--of
that I'm sartin sure."
"Which reminds me," said I, "of a certain unpopular gentleman of
the name of Fell, or Pell, or Snell."
"Eh?" said the smith, staring.
"There is a verse, I remember, which runs, I think, in this wise: "'I do not love thee, Doctor Fell, or Pell, or Snell,
For reasons which I cannot tell;
But this I know, and know full well,
I do not love thee, Doctor Fell, or Pell, or Snell.'"
"So you'm a poet, eh?"
"No," said I, shaking my head.
"Then I'm sorry for it; a man don't meet wi' poets every day,"
saying which, he drew the scroll from the fire, and laid it,
glowing, upon the anvil. "You was wishful to speak wi' me, I
think?" he inquired.
"Yes," I answered.
"Ah!"'nodded the smith, "to be sure," and, forthwith, began to
sing most lustily, marking the time very cleverly with his
ponderous hand-hammer.
"If," I began, a little put out at this, "if you will listen to
what I have to say" But he only hammered away harder than ever,
and roared his song the louder; and, though it sounded ill enough
at the time, it was a song I came to know well later, the words
of which are these: "Strike! ding! ding!
Strike! ding! ding!
The iron glows,
And loveth good blows
As fire doth bellows.
Strike! ding! ding!"
Now seeing he was determined to give me no chance to speak, I
presently seated myself close by, and fell to singing likewise.
Oddly enough, the only thing I could recall, on the moment, was
the Tinker's song, and that but very imperfectly; yet it served
my purpose well enough. Thus we fell to it with a will, the
different notes clashing, and filling the air with a most vile
discord, and the words all jumbled up together, something in this
wise: "Strike! ding! ding!
A tinker I am, O
Strike! ding! ding!
A tinker am I
The iron it glows,
A tinker I'll live
And loveth good blows,
And a tinker I'll die.
As fire doth bellows.
If the King in his crown
Strike! ding! ding!
Would change places with me
Strike! ding! ding!" And so forth.