Ben laughed gleefully, and rubbed his hands.
“Now you see how ’tis yourself, Abe!” he cried.
“Shut up!” growled his father. “Don’t you go to crowin’ over your brother. He’s all right. Just wait!”
Abe’s rather sluggish temperament was angered by his brother’s derisive laugh, and he too lost his head. From this time he fought after Ben’s reckless fashion, of course laying himself open to attack—an opportunity of which the tourist availed himself.
When five minutes later Abe measured his length on the turf, Ben got up and bending over his prostrate brother said with a grin: “How did it happen, Abe? An accident, wasn’t it!”
“No,” answered Abe manfully. “I reckon the stranger’s too much for either of us.”
“Try it again, Abe!” said the old man in excitement.
“No, I’ve had enough, dad. I shan’t laugh at Ben any more. I can’t best the Englishman. I might try the boy.”
“No, thank you,” said Gerald laughing. “You could fight me with one hand.”
This modest confession helped to restore Abe’s good humor, and he shook hands with his adversary.