Part 27 (2/2)
”If you say so, I will go.”
”I say so, if you can't stay and be on good terms with your neighbor.”
”I only tell him calmly what I think,” said Chester, with a resolute air.
”And if older persons had not been present,” cried Mark, with another oath, ”I should have flung you over the fence, like a puppy,--as you are!”
”Be calm, my son! bridle your tongue,” said the clergyman, gently, to Chester.
But the young man's pride was touched and his wrath enkindled. He did not pause to consider the consequences of a rash word.
”I should really have liked to see you try that game!” he replied, with cutting sarcasm in his tones.
The jockey uttered a stifled growl, like an enraged bull-dog, and, flinging the halter over the colt's neck, aimed a blow with his fist at Chester's head. But the latter was not unprepared. Avoiding the attack, he skillfully took advantage of Mark's impetuosity, grappled with him, and flung him almost instantly to the ground.
The jockey came down with a tremendous jar, Chester falling upon him. In a moment the latter was upon his feet; when his father, alarmed and highly displeased, seized him by the collar.
”Let go!” muttered Chester, in an excited manner, but not disrespectfully.
”What are you going to do, you foolhardy boy?”
”Nothing; unless I am compelled to. You will let me defend myself, I hope? I don't want to hurt Mark Wheeler; but then Mark Wheeler must keep off.”
Meanwhile Mark Wheeler had regained his feet, mad from the fall. His red-burning eyes were like a wild beast's. Father Brighthopes took his arm with a mild and soothing word; but he shook him off, fiercely.
The jockey was a much stronger man than his quick and determined adversary; but either he feared the latter's agility, or blinding pa.s.sion made him forgetful of every feeling of honor and humanity. His eye fell upon a dangerous weapon, a fragment of a hickory fork-handle, that lay within his reach. He made a spring for it; but the clergyman had picked it up before him.
”Give it to me, old man!” Mark muttered through his teeth.
”Nay, my friend, you must not have it,” replied Father Brighthopes, firmly, but kindly.
”I must not? You mean to govern me like a boy, on my own ground?” hissed the angry man. ”Let go your hold!”
”I entreat you, pause one minute to consider,” said the clergyman, meekly. ”Then you shall have the club, to use it as you please.”
His words had no effect, except to turn the tide of Mark's fury against him. The angry man raved at him with a tempest of oaths; shaking his fist in his face, he swore that, were it not for his white hairs, he would have crushed him beneath his heel.
”G.o.d have mercy on you!” said Father Brighthopes, with solemn earnestness, and with tears.
”None of your pious nonsense here!” thundered Mark, convulsed with pa.s.sion. ”Let go the club, or I shall break your arms.”
”You will not break an old man's arms,” replied the clergyman, with sublime energy. ”No, Mark Wheeler! I know you better. You cannot injure me.”
The strong hand of the jockey seized the old man's shoulder. The latter seemed but a frail child in his grasp; but still he did not shrink, nor loose his hold of the club. To Chester and his father, who sprang to rescue him, he said,
”Do not touch him. I am not afraid. He dare not hurt me. _I am in the hands of my G.o.d._”
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