"'The Bull'—to be sure—you was at 'The Bull' last night—well?"
"They were saying that you were a mighty wrestler, George, that you were the only man in these parts who could stand up to this Cornishman."
"Ay, I can wrastle a bit, Peter," he replied, speaking in the same heavy, listless manner; "what then?"
"Why then, George, get into your coat, and let's be off."
"Wheer to?"
"The Fair." Black George shook his head.
"What, you won't?"
"No, Peter."
"And why not?"
"Because I aren't got the mind to—because I aren't never goin' to wrastle no more, Peter—so theer's an end on 't." Yet, in the doorway I paused and looked back.