“No, I won’t fight,” said Johnnie; “but I’ll wrestle you, and if I don’t hold you down half a minute, then throw you over this five-barred gate, I will give you sixpence.”
“Done wi’ thee,” cried the boy, and he stripped to the waist in an instant, and confidently leapt over into the field.
The juvenile crowd gathered round to see their champion win. They felt certain of his success. But when they saw Johnnie stripped, and noticed his bulging biceps, and the flesh lumped upon his chest and forearms, they began to have their doubts.
Now Johnnie was a strong lad, but not a freak. There was no unshapeliness about his muscular formation. And he had that staying power and nerve which are better even than extra strength. Two villagers (men) volunteered to see fair play, and after shaking hands the lads got into grips.
They both kept their wits about them, and showed considerable skill, but in less than two minutes, Jack—we must call Johnnie “Jack” on this occasion—cross-buttocked his opponent, and next moment he was on his back. And Jack held him down for fully a minute, while wild cheers rent the air. The boy owned up like a man to being beaten.
“Shall I throw you over the gate now?” said Jack.
“N—o, thank you,” was the reply. “I know when I has enough. But shake hands again. You’re the first chap as has ever ‘downed’ Charlie Crockett. Shake again.”
They shook.
“Now,” said Charlie, “I’ll keep away the crowd, as ye says you’re tired and needs peace. But——”
“Well, Charlie?”