"Do it!" answered Bartley; "and if that'll help you to start, so much the better."
As he spoke and with infinite quickness he raised his hand and pulled David's nose. A second later they were in the sawdust together.
The huge Shillabeer pulled them apart, like a man separates a pair of terriers. Then Simon Snell, Ernest Maunder and Timothy Mattacott held Bartley, while, single-handed, the 'Dumpling' restrained young Bowden. Immense excitement marked the moment. Only Mr. Fogo puffed his long clay and showed no emotion. A senseless babel choked the air, and then Shillabeer's heavy voice shouted down the rest and he made himself heard.
"I won't have it!" he said. "I'm ashamed that you grown-up chaps can sink to temper like this and disgrace yourselves and me and the company. Strangers present too! If you want to fight, then fight in a decent and gentlemanly way--not like two dogs over a bone."
"I do want to fight," said Bartley. "I want nothing better in this world than to give that man the damnedest hiding ever a man had."
"And I'm the same," said Bowden. He was now quite calm again. "I'm sorry I forgot myself in your bar, Mr. Shillabeer, but no man can say I hadn't enough to make me. I'll not talk big nor threaten, nor say what I'll do to him, but I'll fight him for all he's worth--to-morrow if he likes."
"Now you're talking sense," declared the innkeeper. "A fair fight no man can object to, and if it's known in the proper quarters and not in the wrong ones, there ought to be a little money moving for both of you. How do they stand for a match, Fogo? Come forward, David, and let 'Frosty-face' have a look at you."
"Let 'em shake hands first," said Mr. Fogo.
"I'll do so," declared Bowden, "on the understanding that we're to fight this side of Christmas."
"The sooner the better," retorted Crocker. Then they shook hands and Mr. Fogo's glittering eyes inspected them.