THE TALE OF THE LOST LAND
CHAPTER 20: THE OGRE'S CASTLE
 
Between six and nine we made ten miles, which was plenty for a
 horse carrying triple--man, woman, and armor; then we stopped
 for a long nooning under some trees by a limpid brook. 
Right so came by and by a knight riding; and as he drew near he
 made dolorous moan, and by the words of it I perceived that he
 was cursing and swearing; yet nevertheless was I glad of his
 coming, for that I saw he bore a bulletin-board whereon in letters
 all of shining gold was writ: 
    "USE PETERSON'S PROPHYLACTIC TOOTH-BRUSH--ALL THE GO." 
I was glad of his coming, for even by this token I knew him for
 knight of mine.  It was Sir Madok de la Montaine, a burly great
 fellow whose chief distinction was that he had come within an ace
 of sending Sir Launcelot down over his horse-tail once.  He was
 never long in a stranger's presence without finding some pretext
 or other to let out that great fact.  But there was another fact
 of nearly the same size, which he never pushed upon anybody unasked,
 and yet never withheld when asked:  that was, that the reason he
 didn't quite succeed was, that he was interrupted and sent down
 over horse-tail himself.  This innocent vast lubber did not see
 any particular difference between the two facts.  I liked him,
 for he was earnest in his work, and very valuable.  And he was so
 fine to look at, with his broad mailed shoulders, and the grand
 leonine set of his plumed head, and his big shield with its quaint
 device of a gauntleted hand clutching a prophylactic tooth-brush,
 with motto:  "Try Noyoudont."  This was a tooth-wash that I was
 introducing. 
He was aweary, he said, and indeed he looked it; but he would not
 alight.  He said he was after the stove-polish man; and with this
 he broke out cursing and swearing anew.  The bulletin-boarder
 referred to was Sir Ossaise of Surluse, a brave knight, and of
 considerable celebrity on account of his having tried conclusions
 in a tournament once, with no less a Mogul than Sir Gaheris
 himself--although not successfully.  He was of a light and laughing
 disposition, and to him nothing in this world was serious.  It was
 for this reason that I had chosen him to work up a stove-polish
 sentiment.  There were no stoves yet, and so there could be nothing
 serious about stove-polish.  All that the agent needed to do was
 to deftly and by degrees prepare the public for the great change,
 and have them established in predilections toward neatness against
 the time when the stove should appear upon the stage. 
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