CHAPTER III
When they came among the host the men of Ireland gathered about the vast stranger; and there were some who hid their faces in their mantles so that they should not be seen to laugh, and there were some who rolled along the ground in merriment, and there were others who could only hold their mouths open and crook their knees and hang their arms and stare dumbfoundedly upon the stranger, as though they were utterly dazed.
Cael of the Iron came also on the scene, and he examined the stranger with close and particular attention.
"What in the name of the devil is this thing?" he asked of Fionn.
"Dear heart," said Fionn, "this is the champion I am putting against you in the race."
Cael of the Iron grew purple in the face, and he almost swallowed his tongue through wrath.
"Until the end of eternity," he roared, "and until the very last moment of doom I will not move one foot in a race with this greasy, big-hoofed, ill-assembled resemblance of a beggarman."
But at this the Carl burst into a roar of laughter, so that the ear-drums of the warriors present almost burst inside of their heads.
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