Uncle Jenico received us with surprise, and some consternation over my appearance; nor did the recital of the affray much reassure him. Still more was he confounded by the rector’s frank avowal of his object in approaching him.
“He is a mere child, sir,” said my uncle.
“‘The childhood shows the man,’” quoted the other.
“To be sure. But, as he isn’t going to be a prize-fighter——”
“Every true Christian, sir, is a prize-fighter. He champions the right in order to win heaven.”
“Well, where was the right here?”
“I regret to have to confess, sir, in an insulting expression about you, which he very properly resented.”
“Me!” cried my uncle, amazed. Then suddenly he stumped across to where I stood, and patted my shoulder rather tremulously. “Well, well,” he said; “no doubt I’m a funny old fellow. So you stood up for old Uncle Jenico, Dicky?”
His voice shook a little. I wriggled and flushed up crimson.
“It was a lie!” I cried, choking; “and I’m going to fight him and lick him for it.”