"On a foul!" repeated Cragg.
"Think again," said the red-headed man, "'t were said as it was a werry clean knock-out."
"An' I say it were done on a foul," reiterated Cragg, with another blow of his fist, "an' wot's more, if Buck Vibart stood afore me—ah, in this 'ere very room, I'd prove my words."
"Humph!" said the red-headed man, "they do say as he's wonderful quick wi' his 'mauleys,' an' can hit—like a sledgehammer."
"Quick wi' 'is 'ands 'e may be, an' able to give a goodish thump, but as for beatin' me—it's 'all me eye an' Betty Martin,' an' you can lay to that, my lads. I could put 'im to sleep any time an' anywhere, an' I'd like—ah! I'd like to see the chap as says contrairy!" And here the pugilist scowled round upon his hearers (more especially the red-headed man) so blackly that one or two of them shuffled uneasily, and the latter individual appeared to become interested in the lock of his pistol.
"I'd like," repeated Cragg, "ah! I'd like to see the cove as says contrairy."
"No one ain't a-goin' to, Tom," said the one-eyed man soothingly, "not a soul, Lord bless you!"
"I only wish they would," growled Cragg.
"Ain't there nobody to obleege the gentleman?" inquired the red-headed man.
"I'd fight any man as ever was born—wish I may die!" snorted Cragg.