"Not afore I tells ye somethin'," he answered, impressively. "I had a wrastlin' match this mornin' with big Jim Lawson, an'—"
"Who won?" asked Jack, mildly.
"Who won!" snorted Pete, with a fierce frown. "That's a fine question ter ask—now, ain't it? Ain't ye all felt me muscle? Did any o' ye ever see a stronger arm'n that, hey?" He held it out for inspection right under little Tom Clifton's nose, whereupon Tom stepped hastily back. "Ye ain't wery good on answerin' questions to-day; but there's an easy one fur ye."
"Not bad—not so bad," grinned Jack, "but a chap loses sometimes."
"Not with an arm like that he don't, young feller. In a couple o' minutes Jim was a-lyin' flatter'n that fat snoozer over there. An' d'ye know what Jim says?"
"We will in a second," murmured Jack.
"'Pete, ye ain't got yer eq'al in ther hull camp!'—them was his words. Come on outside, big un; I'll jist show ye how it's done."
"That makes the twenty-seventh time you've asked me, Pete," laughed Jack; "I'm countin' 'em. Haven't finished readin' my book on wrestlin' rules yet."
"Maybe some o' you'll have to try it one day," said Pete, ominously. "I'm a-goin'."
The boys watched his stocky figure disappear out the door, and pass slowly across the window, while the breeze flung back his loud tuneless whistling.