“They’re not very hard,” said Tom, “but they’re rather harder than your nose or eyes. Do you want any more?”
“Not just now,” said Ben. “I say, what’ll you take to teach me boxin’?”
“I shouldn’t dare to,” said Tom.
“Why not?”
“When you’d learned you could lick me easily.”
“Well, I wouldn’t,” said Ben. “I’m a rough customer, I expect, but you’re a trump, and you’ve got grit, I vow if you haven’t. There’s my hand, to show I don’t bear no malice.”
Tom offered his hand, though he feared there might be craft in the offer of friendship. But it was honestly meant. Ben was not altogether a brute, and he really felt respect for Tom’s pluck. He gave him a cordial pressure, and said:
“It’s all right, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Tom. “I hope your face doesn’t pain you.”
“Yes, it does, but no matter. It’ll soon be better.”