“I am sorry to hear it,” said Brooke amused. “May I ask why you are prejudiced against my countrymen?”
“We’ve licked ’em twice, and we can lick ’em again,” answered Peters forcibly.
“I really hope you will have no occasion. So far as I can judge England feels very friendly toward the United States. I must contend, however, that my countrymen know something about fighting.”
“Wal, perhaps they do!” admitted Peters shortly, “but you ain’t no match for us. Take you, for instance, how old be you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“My Ben, there, is only twenty, and he could double you up in less’n a minute.”
Noel Brooke fixed a critical glance on the tall, awkward, but strongly built youth, indicated as Ben.
“He is certainly taller than I am,” he admitted. There was about six inches’ difference in their respective heights.
“Yes, and he’s tough and wiry. Do you think you could lay him out, Ben?”
Ben grinned and answered shortly, “I reckon!”