'Well, Brummy, I won't fight you,' replied Done. Brummy ducked his head again, and muttered something in a husky voice about being 'proud to hey a fr'en'ly go with any gent ez is a gent.'
'He's a gentleman amateur like yourself,' said the spokesman persuasively 'and a fairer fighter never stripped.'
'Oh, make tracks!' retorted Burton with some impatience. 'We're tired.
Set your man-eater at a red-gum butt or a bull—something in his class.'
'It's very disappointing after coming so far to oblige you.'
'You didn't receive a pressing invitation from any body here,' said Jim.
'Any other day,' ventured the Nut deferentially in his small, hoarse voice, intelligible only at intervals. 'Way o' friendship—no ill-feelin's—gent ez is a gent—no 'arm did.'
'I'll not fight you at any time,' Done replied. 'You see, Brummy, my friend hesitates to raise false hopes in your heart,' said the Prodigal. 'He might promise to punch the hair and hide off you at some future date, and then disappoint all your tender, joyful anticipations; but he's not a man of that sort: he tells you straight he wouldn't attempt to 'spoil beauty like yours for all the gilt in the Gravel Pits.'
'Gent don't wanter fight,' whispered Brummy; 'tha's all right—no 'arm did.' Brummy was the only man of his party who betrayed no feeling whatever in the matter.
There was a further conference, and the spokesman turned to Jim again.
Brummy claims the championship of Diamond Gully,' he said.