“Why, Ben!” exclaimed his father in angry amazement, “what’s got into yer? Hev you been drinkin’? Why, you can’t fight more’n an old cow! To be floored by a little chap like that!”
Ben rose from the ground slowly, looking dazed and bewildered.
“He knows how to fight, he does!” he said.
“Why, he ain’t half as big as you, Ben! Ain’t you ashamed of yourself?”
“No, I ain’t,” said Ben in a sulky tone. “If you think it’s so easy to tackle him do it yourself. He’s a reg’lar steam ingine, he is!”
“Will you try it again, Ben?” asked Brooke in a friendly tone.
“No, I won’t. I’ve had enough.”
His father was carried away by his angry excitement.
“I didn’t think one of my boys would disgrace me,” he said bitterly. “You’ve told me to tackle him myself, and I’ll be whipped if I don’t do it.”