When the ale had got
hold of them they opened their mouths also, and, crowding round Dick,
asked if it were true that he could shoot well.
"As well as another," he answered, and would say no more.
Then they looked at his bow, and saw that it was old-fashioned, like his
master's mail, and of some foreign make and wood, but a mighty weapon
such as few could handle and hold straight. Lastly, they began to
challenge him to a match upon the morrow, to which he answered, who also
had been drinking ale and was growing angry, that he'd give the best of
them five points in fifty.
Now they mocked, for among them were some famous archers, and asked at
what range.
"At any ye will," answered Grey Dick, "from twelve score yards down to
one score yards. Now trouble me no longer, who if I must shoot to-morrow
would sleep first and drink no more of your strong ale that breeds bad
humours in one reared upon dyke water."
Then, seizing his bow, he glided away in his curious stoat-like fashion
to the hole where he had been shown that he should sleep.
"A braggart!" said one.
"I am not so sure," answered a grizzled captain of archers, who had
fought in many wars. "Braggarts make a noise, but this fellow only spoke
when we squeezed him and perhaps what came out of those thin lips was
truth. At least, from his look I'd sooner not find him against me bow to
bow.
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