The yard, it seemed to Jack, was clear as daylight: or clearer, with a big, flat white moon. Someone was sizing up to a little square man with long thick arms, and the little man was probing them off expertly. Hello! Here was a master, in his way.
The girl was leaning up against Jack, with her hand on his shoulder. This was a bore, but he supposed it was also a kind of tribute. He had still never looked at her.
"That's Jake," she said. "He's champion of these parts. Oh my, if he sees me leanin' on y' arm like this, hell be after ye!"
"Well, don't lean on me then," said Jack complacently.
"Go on, he won't see me. We're in the dark right here."
"I don't care if he sees you," said Jack.
"You do contradict yourself," said the girl.
"Oh no, I don't!" said Jack.
And he watched the long-armed man, and never once looked at the girl. So she leaned heavier on him. He disapproved, really, but felt rather manly under the burden.
The little, square, long-armed man was oldish, with a grey beard. Jack saw this as he danced round, like a queer old satyr, half gorilla, half satyr, roaring, booing, fencing with a big yahoo of a young bushman, holding him off with his unnatural long arms. Over went the big young fellow sprawling on the ground, causing such a splother that everyone shifted a bit out of his way. They all roared delightedly.