“Jimmy,” I exclaimed, “hold the dog!” and, with the back of my hand, I slapped the Dutchman heavily on the nose.
The dog growled. Jimmy sprang and clasped the creature round the neck, holding him in a vise, and grinning with every fang in his head between the dog’s ears. A fight to an English lad, himself clasping a growling dog to his heart! Match him such another joy if you can!
Having struck Van Laar, I stood up and immediately pulled off my coat and waistcoat. Van Laar also undressed himself, and, while he did so, he bawled out:
“I vhas sorry for you. Better for you had you never been porn. If I vhas you, I like some more to be drown or hang dan to be you.”
He stripped himself to his flesh, keeping nothing but his trousers on, and stood before me like a vast mass of yellow soap. He was drenched with perspiration. Galloon barked hoarsely at him. I was almost disposed to regard this exhibition of himself as an appeal to my sensibility. He was shaped like a dugong—after the pattern, indeed, of one of the most corpulent of those interesting marine epicenes. He opposed to me a ton of infuriate flesh. How could I strike it, or rather where? It would be like plunging my fist into a full slush-pot.
“Dere better der man dere better der mate!” he roared. “call upon Cott, if you belief in Him, to help you. Dere better der man dere better der mate! Goom on!”
Poising his immense fists close against his face, he approached me, and then, hoping perhaps to end the business at a coup he rushed upon me, whirling both his arms with the velocity of a windmill in a strong breeze. I took a step and planted a blow, but not without compunction, for I saw that the poor devil had no science. I say I planted a blow in his right eye, which instantly took a singular expression of leering. I backed and he followed, still swinging his arms; and certainly, had I permitted one of those rotary fists to descend upon my head, I must have gone down as though to the blow of a handspike. But alas! for poor Van Laar. He knew nothing of boxing, and I was well versed in that art. I dodged him for a while, hoping that, by winding him, I should be able to bring the battle to a bloodless close. But the fellow had very remarkable staying powers; he seemed unnaturally strong in the wind considering his tonnage. He continued to thrash the air, seeking to rush upon me, while he thundered:
“Dere better der man, dere better der mate!”
So, to end the business, I knocked him down. He fell flat and heavily upon his back. Jimmy roared with laughter, and Galloon barked furiously at the yellow heap on the deck, straining in the lad’s arms to get at it. Greaves came into the cabin. He stopped when in the companion way, and stared at the motionless figure of Van Laar.
“Is the man killed?” cried he.