"None s' bad," answered Jessamy; "he's quick an' willing an' don't mind bein' knocked down now and then, which is a good thing—you went down pretty frequent that last round, brother!" Here Diana, noting my battered dishevelment, scowled at Jessamy adorably.
"It ain't—isn't needful to hit quite so hard, is it, Jessamy?" she enquired.
"Why, yes, Ann. Peregrine wants me to teach him to fight an' you can't teach that to any man by tapping him, d'ye see."
"But, then, Jessamy," said the Tinker, with his twinkling, bright eyes on Diana, "Peregrine ain't exactly a Milo o' Crete as had a habit o' slayin' oxen wi' a blow of his fist; Peregrine's delicate frame could never endoor real good, hard knocks—"
"But it could, Jerry!" exclaimed Diana. "Nobody could hit him harder than I've seen him hit, except Jessamy, p'raps." Now at this I was seized of such a yearning to kiss her that I bent lower over my platter lest the impulse prove ungovernable.
"It ain't size as counts, brother," added Jessamy, "no—not once in a thousand; an' as for this cove Milo, big an' heavy an' slow as a waggon o' bricks, I could eat him alive any day. Though to be sure 't would only be vanity an' vexation arter all," he added mournfully, "so let's talk o' better things."
"Why, then, Jessamy," said the Tinker, his eyes twinkling more than usual, "what might be the pre-cise time by your chronometer?"
"It is now," replied Jessamy, solemnly consulting his watch, "exactly five an' three quarter minutes to seven, Jerry."
"Then I take leave to tell ye, you're exactly two minutes an' a half slow," retorted the Tinker, glancing at his own.
"You're very silent, Peregrine; does aught grieve ye?" enquired the
Tinker.