The dog fled, the group of idlers who had remained seated, listening to the colloquy, sprung up and drew near, exchanging glances and staring at the pair.
The young fellow stood in the easiest of attitudes, with something like a smile on his lips, for the man's attitude of complete astonishment as he leant against the doorway was rather comical.
"That was a good 'un," cautiously whispered one of the men, looking at the young fellow admiringly. "'Tain't often Jem Pyke gets it like that, are it?"
The man called Pyke pulled himself together, and stretching himself glared round him; then his eyes rested on the young fellow, and he seemed to remember.
With an oath he made ready for a spring, but the young fellow raised his hand.
"Wait a minute, my friend," he said, almost pleasantly. "If you are anxious for a fight, say so, and let us have it comfortably. I haven't the slightest objection myself."
"Curse you, I'll—I'll kill you!" gasped the man.
The young fellow laughed.
"I don't think you will, my friend. I'm afraid you'll be disappointed, I really am; but if you'd like to try——"
He threw his cigar away, and, taking off his light shooting jacket, tossed it on to the settle.