“It’s no fault of mine!” he cried. “It was to be and it is. Jim, boy, for the Lord’s sake remember your distances, and stick to out-fightin’ with a man that could give you a stone.”
“I was sure that Harrison would not stand in the way of sport,” said my uncle. “We are glad that you have stepped up, that we might consult you as to the arrangements for giving effect to your very sporting challenge.”
“Whom am I to fight?” asked Jim, looking round at the company, who were now all upon their feet.
“Young man, you’ll know enough of who you ’ave to fight before you are through with it,” cried Berks, lurching heavily through the crowd. “You’ll need a friend to swear to you before I’ve finished, d’ye see?”
Jim looked at him with disgust in every line of his face.
“Surely you are not going to set me to fight a drunken man!” said he. “Where is Jem Belcher?”
“My name, young man.”
“I should be glad to try you, if I may.”
“You must work up to me, my lad. You don’t take a ladder at one jump, but you do it rung by rung. Show yourself to be a match for me, and I’ll give you a turn.”
“I’m much obliged to you.”