MEASURE WEAPONS.
“WELL, what do you say? What will you take?” said William Haworth.
“He’s dog-cheap at a hundred guineas. I’ll say ninety, and not a penny under.”
The man was holding the horse’s head; horse and man were fine types of their several species.
William laughed, quietly and scornfully.
The man fixed a fiery stare on him. “Ay, and what do you say?” he asked.
Digitized by “What do I say? I’ve a good deal to say. You are Lussha Sinfield, and I’ve heard enough about you to help me to value your horse. I’ve no doubt he’s a cheat, and five pounds is too much for him;” and William laughed again contemptuously.
Sinfield turned pale under his swarthy skin; his brow lowered darker, and fire gleamed from his black eyes on William. He stands without motion for some seconds, like the statue of an evil spirit.
“You d — d gorgio!” he yelled, “you haven’t five pounds in the world.”
And, stamping, he broke into an extravagance of fury, of shrieking curses and abuse, gesticulating as if he was hurling handfuls of dust at William into the air. The effect of this frantic exhibition was increased by the rearing and plunging of the startled horse, which he held with his left hand by the bridle, which forced him to caper and spring, this way and that, by its struggles.
“Take the horse, and give me the cudgel!” he shouted to Cowper.
“Lend me your cudgel, Dick,” said William to his companion, who was utterly puzzled by the mad scene; and at the same time he grasped the weapon.
“A ring — a ring!” shouted the crowd, that had already begun to collect.
“Ay, a ring,” cries William Haworth, sternly. “I’ll fight that fellow, if he dares; I’ll drive him out of our county.”
“Will ye try the cudgel, ye d — d thief?” screamed the horse-dealer.
“Ay, I don’t care.”
Sinfield made a spring into the air, and twirled the heavy stick he held by the middle; then off went his coat and his waistcoat, and old Cowper rolled them tight together, and strapped them to the saddle; off went Sinfield’s hat, and off went his green-and crimson handkerchief, which he tied instead tight about his small black head. There stands the handsome athlete, with this bright headgear, in his shirt and “shorts” and gaiters, looking so lowing and malignant.
He made his stick spin in the air as his black eyes gleamed on William. Light, long of limb, all bone and sinew, a very formidable adversary looked this champion, who had killed his man in fair fight with the selfsame tough bit of ash, and left his mark scarred on many a valorous youth — being, in fact, a highly skilled master of that weapon.
Every fellow who has not seen a good single-stick play fancies he can guard himself and hit another well enough to hold his own in a fight, and feels safe enough if he has a good stick in his hand. A little experience will open his eyes, if it does not close them.
“I back myself to win — five pounds,” said Lussha Sinfield.
“Done!” cried William.
“I’ll make it ten,” rejoined Sinfield.
“Done, again!” said William. “We’ll stake the money with Mr. Hoggen, here — Mr. Richard Hoggen; every one knows Mr. Hoggen.”
“Aye, he’ll do: I’ve heard tell of Mr. Hoggen.”
“You’ll hold the stakes, won’t you, Dick?” asked William.
“I don’t mind,” said Dick; “but canst play? Have a care what you’re doing,” he whispered, with a wink.
“Well, I ought to know something about it; I was the best man at school at it, and, so far as I know, the best at Cambridge. I was worth something, I can tell you, in the town-and-gown rows; I used to knock them over like nine-pins.”
“Well. I’ll take the money,” said Dick; “and we’ll keep a ring clear. Hollo! Dobbs! — Heyward! — Clewson! Come, lads, ye must keep a ring; get half-a-dozen more, and keep fair play. Here be the squire o’ Haworth goin’ to play a bout for the honor o’ the old county.”
Sinfield said a word to his comrade, taking the horses himself by their heads; and Cowper strode up to Dick Hoggen, and, with extended arm, held forth a £10 note, which honest Dick took with a careful scrutiny, folded, and, with ten sovereigns which William Haworth handed him, placed in his purse, and stuck into the lowest depth of his breast-pocket.
“Now, mind ye don’t press in,” said Richard Hoggen, addressing the crowd. “If you don’t keep the ring you’ll spoil the fun, and stop the sport; and see, lads, the two foremost rows mun sit a t’ ground.”
William Haworth now threw off his coat, handed his watch to honest Dick Hoggen, and put off his waistcoat and hat; and instead of it, like his antagonist, tied a handkerchief tight about his head.
“Now we mun mezzur t’ sapplins,” said Dick; and on being placed together there was scarcely, as it turned out, a quarter of an inch difference in the length of the two sticks; and having satisfied himself that there was no loading in Sinfield’s, he pronounced the cudgels fair, and restored each to its owner for the occasion.
The ring was already formed; an ample area of smooth short turf awaited their tread, and the North-country folk who were lucky enough to be on Willarden Fair Green that day were about to see some very pretty play.