Presently, after he had been lying in bed for some little time and commiserating with himself over his sad fate, the door opened and Betty, with the wistfulness quite gone from her face, came in. And such a Betty! Her brown hair was bundled away under one of Cyril's battered straw hats, and thankful indeed had she been that she had so little hair to bundle. She wore one of Cyril's sailor jackets, and a pair of his serge knickers, and few looking at her casually, would have insulted her with the supposition that she was a mere girl.
Her face was alight with eagerness as she besought her brother to "just see if he'd know her!"
"It'll be almost dark when I get there," she said, "and he'll never dweam I'm not you."
"But what'll you do when you get there?" asked Cyril, sitting up in bed; "perhaps a challenge does mean a fight!"
"Fight him!" said Betty stoutly; "I've been wanting to ever since he went above me."
"You can't fight," said Cyril disgustedly. "You're only a girl."
Betty's face positively flamed with eagerness.
"Can't fight!" she said. "Why Fred Jones taught me. He says I've got the knack, but not very much strength. Anyway, I fought that Barry kid the other day, I can promise you!"
"But John Brown is three times as big as Ces Barry."
"I know!" she sighed dismally. "Anyway, it's better to be beaten than not to fight at all. And if you don't fight, they—they might say you were afraid." Her face grew scarlet as she put the horrid thought into words.