“Maybe it was Bill’s, but all you can get out of the smithy is yours for keeps. Hand over!”
Kit began to think he must fight for the tool, but he did not mean to do so unless he was forced. Railton was big and had, no doubt, for long been engaged in strenuous labor. Kit was rather lightly built, and at the drawing office one got soft.
“If your argument’s good, the spanner’s mine. You see, I got the thing out of your pocket.”
“One on you, Steve!” a man remarked. “Can you beat it?”
“Oh, shucks! I’ve no use for talking,” said Steve. “If you can keep the spanner for five minutes, Kid, I’ll allow it’s yours.”
Kit doubted. The platform was narrow and encumbered by the tool-box and a forge. He must fight on awkward ground, and he did not think his antagonist would use the rules of the boxing ring. He expected to be beaten, but if he refused the challenge he must leave the camp.
“I’ll try,” he said.
Railton jumped across the platform, as if he trusted his weight and strength. Kit’s guard was beaten down and his jarred right arm dropped. He felt as if he were struck by a forge hammer, and he fell against the lattice. Another knock like that would put him out, and if he fell the other way he would go into the river. The foreman was some distance off and, if he resolved to stop the fight, a minute or two must go before he reached the spot.
Kit edged away from the lattice and tried to maneuver. He hit Railton, and then the forge blocked his way and he took another knock. He knew his face was cut; he was dizzy and his breath was going. The group on the platform melted and his antagonist was indistinct. If he did not get back to the lattice he must go over the planks, and if he did get back Railton would batter him against the bars. All the same, he meant to stick to the spanner.
Then Railton’s arm went round his neck, and he began to hope. On the narrow stage, where one could not get about, the other’s weight and muscular force counted for much; but he was a fool to clinch. When one wrestled by Cumberland rules one did not need much room. Kit was something of a wrestler, and he knew his antagonist was not. In fact, if he could brace up for a minute or two, Railton would pay for his rashness. Kit had turned his head and the fellow could not hit his face, and for him to use his heavy boots was risky. Railton’s legs would soon be occupied.