About this time the landlord appeared, blandly apologetic for delay, but pleading the necessity for being in the bar while there were so many “gents” round anxious to go home on good terms with themselves.
“More likely to run against a fence, or the bough of a tree,” said Sheila, who had now rejoined the party, “that’s the sort of ‘good terms with themselves,’ that’s the fashion, Bunjil way. I wonder there’s not more legs and arms broken than there are.”
“Why, it’s a good month since you left us, Mr. Blount,” said the landlord, cheerily unheeding the maid’s moral reflections. “The Sergeant was here a day or two back, and asked after you—Little-River-Jack came last week, and talked of going away unless things mended. He billed Stubbins for a quarter of beef he owed him, and they had a row, and got to fighting over it.”
“How did that come off?” queried the guest, dallying with his second cup of tea, and a plate of buttered toast. “Jack’s rather a light weight.”
“So he is—but he can use his hands, and he’s that active he takes a lot of beating. Well, the butcher at Green Point is a couple of stone heavier, and fancies himself a bit. He says, ‘You’d better summon me, Jack!’ We all knew what that meant.”
“You’re takin’ a mean advantage,” says Jack, “it’s a cowardly thing to do. But I’ll tell you what, if you’re man enough, I’ll fight you for it—it’s a matter of four notes—five and twenty shillings a hundred—are you on?”
“All right!” says the Green Point chap; “so they stripped to it, and had a regular ding-dong go in. The butcher seemed to have the best of it at first, but Jack wore him out, hittin’ and gettin’ away, and dancin’ round him—all them tricks. At last he bunged up his eyes and nearly blinded him, they say. Then Jack went in and finished him; what with loss of wind, and the punishment he got, the butcher was clean knocked out afore the tenth round. So he didn’t come to time, and the referee gave it against him. Jack got the four notes and cleared—the butcher paid up honourable—but he couldn’t show outside the shop for a fortnight afterwards.”
“A capital stand-up fight, I’m sure. I should like to have been there to see it. And now, I think I’ll turn in. I’m a bit tired, and dead sleepy. Good-night, Mr. Middleton, good-night, Sheila! I’ll have breakfast at nine o’clock, please, bacon and eggs is my present fancy. I’ll stay in Bunjil a few days and loaf for a change.”
If there is anything in life more conducive to happiness than waking at dawn in the country, assured of comfort, free from anxiety and relieved from duty, few people have experienced it.