Besides, she looks
a fine gal as Eves go, an' there's enough o' the old Adam inside o' me
to--"
"Are you going?" I demanded.
"Not me!" he answered, turning to spit at a butterfly that hovered
near. "I'm a free-born Briton, I am, as scorns the furrin' yoke!"
Hereupon I rose, that is to say, I forced my unwilling body upon my
shaking legs and faced him.
"Then I must do my best to make you!" said I, with as much stern
resolution in voice and look as I could summon.
"What--you?" exclaimed the Peddler, regarding me with eye of scorn.
"You--eh?" he repeated. "Well, burn my neck, there's imperence for
ye!"
"Put up your hands!" said I.
"What--fight, is it?"
"It is!" said I. "Unless you prefer to depart immediately."
"Well, twist my innards!" exclaimed the Peddler, laying aside his
brooms. "The owdacious young willin'! Wants t' fight! An' 'im sich a
young whipper-snapper!"
He was a middle-aged man, squat of figure with short, plump legs, but
I thought him formidable enough and felt the old nauseating fear
growing upon me as I watched the determined manner in which he
prepared for the approaching combat. Having removed his pack and the
multifarious articles that draped his person, he took off his coat,
folded it neatly and laid it by, which done, he slowly rolled up his
shirt sleeves, eyeing me fiercely and scowling portentously the while.
Now as I watched him, my sweating palms tight-clenched, my jaws
hard-locked to prevent my teeth from chattering, the thought occurred
to me that the hurts I was about to endure and endeavour to inflict
should not only save Diana from evil, but might also prove to her (and
myself) if I were indeed possessed of that thing she called
'game-pluck.
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