Thus Jessamy alternately smote and lectured me until, warned by
Diana's clear call, we donned shirts and waistcoats and strode away to
breakfast.
"And how's he shaping, Jessamy?" enquired the Tinker, serving out ham,
pink and savoury, from the hissing frying pan, while Diana poured out
the coffee.
"None s' bad," answered Jessamy; "he's quick an' willing an' don't
mind bein' knocked down now and then, which is a good thing--you went
down pretty frequent that last round, brother!" Here Diana, noting my
battered dishevelment, scowled at Jessamy adorably.
"It ain't--isn't needful to hit quite so hard, is it, Jessamy?" she
enquired.
"Why, yes, Ann. Peregrine wants me to teach him to fight an' you can't
teach that to any man by tapping him, d'ye see."
"But, then, Jessamy," said the Tinker, with his twinkling, bright eyes
on Diana, "Peregrine ain't exactly a Milo o' Crete as had a habit o'
slayin' oxen wi' a blow of his fist; Peregrine's delicate frame could
never endoor real good, hard knocks--"
"But it could, Jerry!" exclaimed Diana. "Nobody could hit him harder
than I've seen him hit, except Jessamy, p'raps." Now at this I was
seized of such a yearning to kiss her that I bent lower over my
platter lest the impulse prove ungovernable.
"It ain't size as counts, brother," added Jessamy, "no--not once in a
thousand; an' as for this cove Milo, big an' heavy an' slow as a
waggon o' bricks, I could eat him alive any day.
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