‘Here, you’d better drop that!’ said Abner warningly.
But Harris would not be warned. He knew, as well as the others, that Mary Malpas had not been invited to The Dyke. ‘I reckon you’m going to leave her behind to-night,’ he said.
‘I reckon you’d better mind your own business. I’ve had a damn sight too much of your lip.’
Harris laughed. ‘Stands to reason they won’t have that kind of muck in the company of decent married women and innocent childer,’ he said.
Abner did not wait to answer him. He let out with his right, catching Harris on the temple, and sent him spinning toward the ditch.
‘Steady, lad, steady!’ cried old Avery.
Harris pulled himself together and made straight for Abner with his head low down like a bull. He was the older man, and, in spite of the iron strength of his arms, Abner always had the advantage. Harris fought desperately with his hob-nailed boots as well as his fists. They fought till their faces were bloody and their clothes torn. Old Avery whined at them to give over, but they took no notice of him. At last Abner drove Harris into the ditch, where he lay spluttering blood. ‘I reckon that’ll teach you to keep your bleedin’ mouth shut!’ said Abner savagely, and left him there with the old man trembling and shedding weak tears above him.
He washed in the Folly Brook and had made himself fairly presentable by the time he reached Wolfpits.
‘I thought you were going to the harvest home,’ said Mary.
‘Then you thought wrong,’ said Abner irritably. ‘Give us some tea.’