Then it was that Tom Tapley, gathering all his strength, lifted up the prostrate farmer and pitched him downstairs just as Mrs. Badger was mounting them, so that she and her husband fell in a breathless heap on the lower stairs, to the indescribable dismay of Andrew Jackson.
Mrs. Badger was the first to pick herself up.
“What does all this mean, Mr. Badger?” she asked.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Mr. Badger ruefully.
“You don’t mean to say you ain’t a match for a boy?” she demanded sarcastically.
“Perhaps you’d like to try him yourself?” said her husband.
“This is very absurd, Mr. Badger. You know very well he’s weak for a boy of sixteen, and he hasn’t had anything to eat since morning.”
“If you think he’s weak, you’d better tackle him,” retorted Nathan. “I tell you, wife, he’s got the strength of a man and a strong man, too.”
“I don’t understand it. Tell me exactly what happened.”
“Well, you saw me go upstairs with the stick Andrew Jackson gave me,” said Mr. Badger, assuming a sitting position. “I saw the boy lyin’ on the bed, snoring and I up with my stick and brought it down pretty hard. He quivered a little, but that was all. So I thought I’d try it again. He jumped out of bed and sprang on me like a tiger, grinding his teeth, but not saying a word. I tell you, wife, he seemed as strong as a horse. I couldn’t get up, and he sat and pounded me.”