'That's the curiosity of it. 'Twas bad - rank bad. In my conceit I
must needs show it to Torrigiano, in the chapel. He straddles his
legs, hunches his knife behind him, and whistles like a storm-cock
through a sleet-shower. Benedetto was behind him. We were
never far apart, I've told you.

'"That is pig's work," says our Master. "Swine's work. You
make any more such things, even after your fine Court suppers,
and you shall be sent away."

'Benedetto licks his lips like a cat. "It is so bad then, Master?"
he says. "What a pity!"

'"Yes," says Torrigiano. "Scarcely you could do things so bad.
I will condescend to show."

'He talks to me then and there. No shouting, no swearing (it
was too bad for that); but good, memorable counsel, bitten in
slowly. Then he sets me to draft out a pair of iron gates, to take, as
he said, the taste of my naughty dolphins out of my mouth. Iron's
sweet stuff if you don't torture her, and hammered work is all
pure, truthful line, with a reason and a support for every curve
and bar of it. A week at that settled my stomach handsomely, and
the Master let me put the work through the smithy, where I
sweated out more of my foolish pride.'

'Good stuff is good iron,' said Mr Springett. 'I done a pair of
lodge gates once in Eighteen hundred Sixty-three.'