Pinsent shook off the clutches upon him. He came forward two deliberate paces, and with great deliberation stretched himself, and with great deliberation spat upon the ground. Then fixed his eye on Percival. "If he likes to get out of it with a whipping," Pinsent said, "I'll learn him the manners he wants with your whip and let him off at that. If he's got the guts to stand up, I'll roast him till he lays down." He thrust forward his body towards Percival and said mockingly: "Which way? Which way, my pretty gentleman?"
Percival's face was a white lamp in the dusky night. "Give us room!" he said.
Then Pinsent's voice lost its deliberate drawl and rasped out in a rasp that showed his breeding and showed his hate: "I want light to serve you up, my gentleman! Light and a pair of shoes! Christ! I've waited too long for this to spoil it. I've a pattern to put on that pretty face of yours—not in this dark. Where'll I fight him, Boss? Where?"
"Along the road in the morning."
Percival came up. "I'll not wait, Boss. You've heard him. I'll not wait."
Pinsent rasped: "Morning be withered! Now! Now, while I'm hot. Where'll I fight him?"
Boss Maddox peered at his watch, then looked across the booths. "Nigh midnight—few left yonder. We'll be shut down in twenty minutes. At one o'clock."
And Japhra, a strange tremble in his voice: "In your tent, Boss. The boys will want to watch this. Room there, and good light."
Boss Maddox turned to Pinsent: "Good for you? The circus tent?"
"The place for it," Pinsent said. "Sharp at one. Japhra, you and me are ring men; come and settle a point."