“Yes, you can.”
“But how?”
“Give me your fists, both of you, in a hearty soldier’s grip, my lads. That’s my pay in advance, and if in less than six months you two don’t give those two bullies a big dressing down, why, I’m a Dutchman.”
“Oh, Lom!”
“Oh, thank you!” I cried.
“Thank you, my lads, and God bless you both. Fighting’s generally bad, but it’s good sometimes. There, be off, both of you, and I’ll write a letter for those gloves to-night.”
We left him with our hearts beating high.
“I don’t mind my face swelling a bit now,” said Mercer.
“I should like to begin learning to-morrow,” I said, and then we were both silent for a few minutes, till Mercer turned round with a queer laugh on his swollen face.
“I say,” he cried, with a chuckle, “I wonder whether old Dicksee will cry cock-a-doodle-doo next time when we’ve done.”