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"And a jolly good job," replied Dam, fervently and sincerely. As he spoke, Harberth twitched, moved his arms and legs, and opened his eyes. Sitting up, he blinked owl-like and inquired as to what was up. "You are down is what's up," replied Delorme. "Oh he's not dead," squeaked the Haddock, and there was a piteous break in his voice. "What's up?" asked Harberth again.
Why, the most awful torture-chamber of the Holy Inquisition of old was a pleasant recreation-room compared with any place where the Snake could enter. Oh, if the Snake could only be met and fought in the open with free hands and untrammelled limbs, as Bully Harberth could!
At tea, Dam was solemnly asked if it were true that he had cast Harberth from a lofty window and brought him to death's door, or that of the hospital; whether he had strangled him with the result that he had a permanent squint; if he had so kicked him as to break both his thigh bones; if he had offered to fight him with one hand.
However, he continued to think of licking Harberth the "jolliest" thing he could conceive, until his mind wandered home to Lucille, and he enhanced the imaginary jollity by conceiving her present.... "Sturdy little brute," observed a big Fifth Form boy seated with a couple of friends on the bench beside him, "but I'd lay two to one in sovs.
Bully Harberth changed his tactics and advanced upon his elusive opponent with his left in the position of guard and his right drawn back to the arm-pit. Evidently he was going to hold him off with the one and smash him with the other.
Tire him and remember that if he gets you with a swing like that you're out." "Seconds out of the ring. Time!" called the time-keeper and Dam walked towards Harberth with outstretched hand, met him in the middle of the ring and shook hands with great repugnance. As Harberth's hand left Dam's it rose swiftly to Dam's face and knocked him down. "Shame! Foul poke!
"Disgrace to Harberth if he doesn't eat the kid alive," responded the other. "Got a good jaw and mouth, though," said the third. "Going to die hard, you'll see. Good little kid." "Fancy funking a bottled frog or something and fighting a chap who can give him about four years, four inches, and four stone," observed the first speaker. "Yes. Queer little beast.
The sight of blood seemed to distress Harberth and, leaping in as the latter drew his hand across his mouth, Dam drove with all his strength at his mark and with such success that Harberth doubled up and fetched his breath with deep groans. Dam stood clear and waited. Delorme called out, "You've a right to finish him," and was sternly reproved by the referee.
Luckily it was a little high, but it winded him for a moment, and had his opponent rushed him then, Dam could have done nothing at all. Just as "Time" was called, Harberth swung a great round-arm blow at Dam which would have knocked him head over heels had not he let his knees go just in time and ducked under it, hitting his foe once again on the mark with all his strength.
"He hit you fair, and anyhow he's not afraid of you. If you don't fight him you become Funky Harberth vice. Funky Warren no longer Funky. So you'd better fight. See?" The Harberth bubble was evidently pricked, for the sentiment was applauded to the echo.
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