"I threw him! I threw him! It was a fair fall! Now who's the best wrestler?"
"Yes, but you can't do it again," panted Adrian, as he struggled unsuccessfully to rise.
"Roger throwed him!" cried Mr. Kimball, capering about, almost as much pleased over his nephew's victory as Roger himself was. "So ye throwed him fair, eh? Wa'al, I told ye we'd make a Cardiff boy outen ye, ef ye stayed long 'nuff. By Gum! Throwed him good 'n' proper! Now mebby he'll think some un 'sides him kin rassal."
"Well, well, but that's a big improvement in Roger," said Mr. Anderson, coming up as the boys resumed their feet. "He's twice as strong as when I sent him up here. The air and sunshine of the country have made him what he ought to be—a healthy, sturdy boy."
The lads clenched again, rolling over and over in the long grass. The last vestige of daylight disappeared, the chirping of the crickets became louder, the tree-toads croaked with stronger voices, and it was night in the valley of Cardiff.