“There’s a lot you ain’t seen, Bob Tarbut,” said Gubbs, turning upon him, “and what you do see don’t do you much good.”
“I’d be ashamed to bring home such a queer-looking lot,” jeered the other.
“They mayn’t be up to much, but there’s none on ’em would care to change faces with you, I expect,” related Gubbs.
“You leave my face alone,” said Tarbut, whose physiognomy was much used in the village for purposes of comparison.
“A skate’s handsome to you,” said Gubbs, following up his advantage.
He jumped back suddenly as the fist of the sensitive Tarbut shot suddenly out, and treading on a small fish, whirled round wildly with his hands in the air in the effort to retain his balance, and sat down heavily. The bystanders instantly separated into two groups, and two or three anxious sympathisers helped the fallen man to his feet, and indicated those parts of Tarbut’s frame which in their opinion were least adapted to offer resistance to his fist.
“Stand up,” said Gubbs, sternly, as he shook himself free from these friends.
“I am a-standin’ up!” said Tarbut, breathing hard.
The two combatants approached each other stealthily, and manœuvring round the heaps of fish, struck safely at each other over these convenient barriers.
“Get ’em in the road,” cried an excited voice, “they can’t ’urt each other here.”