Realf himself was away, but Reuben left such a stinging message for him, that apology was impossible except in a form that could only be regarded as a fresh insult. An apology in this shape reached Odiam at dinner-time, and Reuben at once sent off Beatup with an acceptance of it that was very nearly obscene. The result was that Realf himself arrived about three o'clock furiously demanding an explanation of his neighbour's insulting conduct.
The two men met in the kitchen, Peter backing up his father, and for a long time the scene was stormy, the word "roots" whirling about the conversation, with the prefix "my good" or "your hemmed" as the case might be. Realf was genuinely angry—Reuben's attitude of mingled truculence and scorn had wounded even his easy pride.
"You're justabout afeard of me, that's wot you are. You think I'll bust up your old farm and show myself a better man than you. You're afeard of me because I'm a younger man than you."
"Ho, afeard of you, am I?—and because you're a youngster? I'll justabout show you wot a youngster's worth. A better man, are you?—Put up your fists, and we'll see who's the better man."
Reuben began to take off his coat—young Realf drew back almost in disgust.
"I'm not going to fight a man old enough to be my father," he said, flushing.
"Ho, äun't you?—Come on, you puppy-dog, and see fur yourself if you need täake pity on my old age."
He had flung off his coat, and squared up to Realf, who, seeing no alternative, began to strip.
Peter interposed:
"Let me täake him on, fäather. I'll show him a thing or two."