There stood Ben, actually staggering as if on the point of falling, while the Englishman, calm and unruffled, stood in an easy position watching for the next move.
Old Mr. Peters rose from the ground in his excitement.
“Pitch into him, Ben!” he shouted. “Ain’t you ashamed of bein’ beaten back by a little chap like that! Where’s your pluck? Are you goin’ to let a little undersized Britisher do you up afore your own father and brother?”
“No, dad, I’ll be eternally walloped if I will. Look out, there! I’m goin’ to smash yer. Look out I say! Here I come.”
“All right! I’ll look out,” said Noel Brooke calmly.
Ben stood a poorer chance now than before, for his unexpected defeat, and the raillery of his father, made him angry and reckless of consequences. He rushed at Brooke in an impetuous pell-mell manner which was utterly reckless and exposed him to attack, and which would have given his opponent a great advantage even if he had been less skilful.
Ben was excited, and Noel Brooke was not. Moreover, the tourist now thoroughly understood his advantage, and awaited the onslaught in calm confidence. Again he succeeded in avoiding the close hug by which Ben intended to paralyze and render him powerless, and took the opportunity to get in a couple of sledge-hammer blows, one of which took effect on Ben’s chin.
It was too much for him.
Like a tall poplar he swayed for a moment, and then, falling backward, measured his length upon the ground.