"I thought you knew something about wrestling," remarked Tom, standing erect, and looking down on him with a smile, "but you don't know anything at all."
The two spectators were convulsed with laughter. Zeigler's face was a fiery crimson, and he scrambled to his feet in a fury.
"That was a slip; you can't do it again!" he exclaimed, springing at Tom and hastily locking arms with him.
"All right; we'll see. Now do your best, for I mean to throw you just as I did a minute ago. Are you ready?"
"Of course I am; go ahead."
Zeigler was not lacking in a certain skill. The lesson he had just received was not lost on him. He was cautious, tricky, and alert--more so than Tom suspected, and he put forth the utmost cunning of which he was capable.
They twisted, swayed back and forth, and once Tom came within a hair of falling, owing to a slight slip of one foot. But he was on his mettle, and, putting forth his whole might and ability, he flung his antagonist on his back with a violence that almost drove the breath from his body.
"Fudge!" remarked Tom, turning away in disgust; "I'll give you a few lessons if you wish to learn how to wrestle. Any way, you had better take lessons of some person before you bother me again."
The other two clerks had dropped upon the nearest stools, and were holding their sides with mirth.
"Zeigler," said one, when he recovered speech, "that's too big a contract for you; you can't deliver the goods."