We put up at the inn in a village just at nightfall,
and when I rose next morning and looked abroad, I
was ware where a knight came riding in the golden
glory of the new day, and recognized him for knight
of mine -- Sir Ozana le Cure Hardy. He was in the
gentlemen's furnishing line, and his missionarying
specialty was plug hats. He was clothed all in steel,
in the beautifulest armor of the time -- up to where his
helmet ought to have been; but he hadn't any helmet,
he wore a shiny stove-pipe hat, and was ridiculous a
spectacle as one might want to see. It was another of
my surreptitious schemes for extinguishing knighthood
by making it grotesque and absurd. Sir Ozana's sad-
dle was hung about with leather hat boxes, and every
time he overcame a wandering knight he swore him