“Please hold the eggs, my cousin!” Then, evidently to Fred: “How dare you to mock at my cousin and insult me?”
As we reached the gate Eric pulled me back.
“Let the kid alone!” he whispered. “He’s not afraid.”
It reminded me of old King Edward, and “Let the boy win his spurs.”
None of the three saw us. Jennie was standing on the grass at the side, looking very red and excited; Fred Oram was pulling Léon’s hair and dancing round him, making derisive remarks. Léon wrenched his head away, and with a bound stood in the middle of the road, facing his enemy. In spite of his buttony boots—in spite of his blue sash and his long hair—Fred seemed rather afraid of him, for Léon looked, and was, furious.
For about half a minute they stood looking at each other. Léon shouted, “Lâche! Lâche!”—he forgot to speak English, he was so excited—then, “En garde!”—and there seemed a thousand rs in that garde—and he sprang on Fred, who went down like a ninepin.
Eric vaulted the gate, yelling excitedly, “By Jove! the kid can box.”
Jennie laid down the eggs on the grass, and hid her face in her hands. But she looked through her fingers. I saw her.
In another minute Fred was upon his feet. He was bigger than any of us—even Eric. Léon went at him again, calling out what we supposed to be battle-cries in French, and I do believe that the French alarmed Fred as much as the pommelling. Anyway, down he went again, with Léon on the top of him.
“Time!” shouted Eric, picking upon Léon and wiping his face, which was hard to see, for his nose was bleeding and one eye was swollen.