My heart gave a twist, and for a moment pulled the blood out of my cheeks. Then I saw Mr. Sant looking at me, and was suddenly glowing all over, as if after a cold douche.
“For the right, Dicky!” he said. “To win your spurs in Christendom! Remember what I’ve taught you, and keep your head.”
It was all very well to say so, with that part of me like a bladder full of hot air. But I followed him stoutly, trusting to the occasion to inspire me with all the science which, for the moment, had clean deserted me.
There was a little plat of lawn at the back, very snug and private behind some trees; and here we found my adversary waiting, in charge of Jacob, the gardener, a grizzled, comfortable old fellow in complete Christian subjection to his master. Jacob was to second Harry, and Mr. Sant me. The old fellow grinned and ducked as we appeared. There were no other witnesses.
“Now,” said Mr. Sant, “when I say ‘Go!’ go; when I call ‘Time!’ stop.”
He fell back with the words, and we stood facing one another. I was utterly bemused, at that instant, as to the processes by which I had reached this situation. I could only grasp the one fact that I was put up to batter, if I could (which seemed ridiculous), this confident, taut little figure in the shirt and corduroy smalls and gaiters, who held out, as if for my inspection, two bare brown arms, made all of bone and whipcord; and that I must proceed to try to do this, without any present quarrel—but rather the reverse—to stimulate me. It was so different to the circumstances of that other mad contest. I could have laughed; I——
“Go!” said Mr. Sant.
Something cracked on my forehead, and I fell.
“Time!” cried Mr. Sant.
He pulled me to my feet.