"Do you mean it? If you do I'm through with you. You understand?"
Peter took the girl by the arm and led her gently away.
"Just wait a minute, Wells," he flung over his shoulder at the man, "I'll be back in a second."
The careless tone rather bewildered the woodsman, who had expected to find either fear or anger. The forester-piano-player showed neither—only careless ease and a coolness which could only be because he didn't know what was coming to him.
"D—n him! I'll fix him!" muttered Shad, quivering with rage. But Peter having fortified himself with a cigarette was now returning. Wells advanced into an open space where there was plenty of room to swing his elbows and waited.
"Now, Wells," said Peter alertly, "you wanted to see me?"
"Yes, I did, ye stuck-up piano-playin', psalm-singin' —— —— —— ————." And suiting the action to the word leaped for Peter, both fists flying.
The rugged and uncultured often mistake politeness for effeminacy, sensibility for weakness. Shad was a rough and tumble artist of a high proficiency, and he had a reputation for strength and combativeness. He was going to make short work of this job.
But Peter had learned his boxing with his cricket. Also he had practiced the Savate and was familiar with jiu jitsu—but he didn't need either of them.