Someone called out: “Nonsense! No such thing! Sit down!”
Peregrine swung around to stare at Farnaby. “He was not squeezed! I was watching the whole time, and I’m ready to swear my man did no more than set him!”
The setters-on, pending the referee’s decision, had each caught his bird, a lucky circumstance for the brass-back, who seemed to have been badly cut up by the last blow. The referee gave it in favour of the grey, and Mr. Fitzjohn said testily: “Of course the grey was not squeezed! Sit down, man, sit down! Hey, no wonder your cock’s shy! I believe the grey got his eye in that last brush. Perry, that’s a rare bird of yours! We’ll match him with mine one day, down at my place. Ha, that finishes it! The brass-back’s a blinker now—or dead. Dead, I think. Well done, Perry! Well done!”
Mr. Farnaby turned with an ugly look on his face. “Ay, well done indeed! Your cock was craven, and was squeezed to make him fight.”
“Here, I say, Farnaby, learn to take your losses!” said Mr. Fitzjohn with strong disapproval.
Peregrine, a gathering frown on his boyish countenance, lifted a hand to hush his friend, and fixed his eyes on Farnaby’s. “You can’t know what you’re saying. If there was a fault the referee must have seen it.”
“Oh,” said Farnaby, with a sneer, “when rich men fight their cocks referees can sometimes make mistakes.”
It was not said loud enough to carry very far, but it brought Peregrine to his feet in a bound. “What!” he cried furiously. “Say that again if you dare!”
Though no one but those immediately beside Farnaby could have heard his words, it was quite apparent to everyone by this time that an altercation was going on, and the rougher part of the gathering at once began to take sides, some (who had lost their money on the brass-back) loudly asserting that the grey had been squeezed, and others declaring with equal fervour that it had been a fair fight. Above the hubbub a shrill Cockney voice besought Peregrine to darken Mr. Farnaby’s daylights—advice of which he did not seem to stand in much need, for he was clenching his fists very menacingly already.
Mr. Fitzjohn, who had also heard Farnaby’s last speech, tried to get between him and Peregrine, saying in a brisk voice: “That’s enough of this foolery. You’re foxed, Farnaby. Ought to be ashamed of yourself.”