Part 15 (1/2)

For the first time since the adder episode, he was really happy. Why, he did not know, save that he was about to ”get some of his own back,”

to strike a blow against the cruel coward Incubus (for he persisted in identifying Harberth with the Snake and in regarding him as a materialization of the life-long Enemy), and possibly to enjoy a brief triumph over what had so long triumphed over him.

If he were at this time a little mad the wonder is that he was still on the right side of the Lunatic Asylum gates.

Mad or not, he was happy--and the one thing wanting was the presence of Lucille at the fight. How he would have loved to show her that he was not really a coward--given a fair chance and a tangible foe.

If only Lucille could be there--dancing from one foot to the other, and squealing. (Strictly _between_, and not during, the rounds, of course.)

”Buck up, Dammy! Ginger for pluck! Never say croak!”

A very large and very informal committee took charge of the business of the fight, and what was alluded to as ”a friendly boxing contest between Bully Harberth of the Fifth and de Warrenne--late Funky--” was arranged for the following Sat.u.r.day afternoon. On being asked by a delegate of the said large and informal committee as to whether he would be trained by then or whether he would prefer a more distant date, Dam replied that he would be glad to fight Harberth that very moment--and thus gained the reputation of a fierce and determined fellow (though erstwhile ”funky”--the queer creature).

Those who had been loudest in dubbing him Funky Warrenne were quickest in finding explanations of his curious conduct and explained it well away.

It was at this time that Dam's heart went wholly and finally out to Ormonde Delorme who roundly stated that his father, a bemedalled heroic Colonel of Gurkhas, was ”in a blind peris.h.i.+ng funk” during a thunderstorm and always sought shelter in the wine cellar when one was in progress in his vicinity.

Darn presented Delorme with his knife and a tiger's tooth forthwith.

Sat.u.r.day came and Dam almost regretted its advent, for, though a child in years, he was sufficiently old, weary, and cynical in spirit to know that all life's fruit contains dust and ashes, that the joys of antic.i.p.ation exceed those of realization, and that with possession dies desire.

With the fight would end the glorious feeling of successful revolt, and if he overcame one emissary of the Snake there would be a million more to take his place.

And if Providence should be, as usual, on the side of the ”big battalions,” and the older, taller, stronger, heavier boy should win?

Why--then he would bully the loser to his heart's content and the limit of his ingenuity.

Good! Let him! He would fight him every day with the greatest pleasure. A chance to fight the Snake on fair terms was all he asked....

Time and place had been well chosen and there was little likelihood of interference.

Some experienced youth, probably c.o.keson himself, had made arrangements as to seconds, time-keeper, judges, and referee; and, though there was no ring of ropes and stakes, a twenty-four-foot square had been marked out and inclosed by forms and benches. Seating was provided for the ”officials” and seniors, and two stools for the princ.i.p.als. A couple of bowls of water, sponges, and towels lent a business-like air to the scene.

To his delight, Dam discovered that Delorme was to be his second--a person of sound advice, useful ministrations, and very present help in time of trouble....

Delorme led him to his stool in an angle of the square of benches, bade him spread wide his arms and legs and breathe deeply ”for all he was worth, with his eyes closed and his thoughts fixed on jolly things”.

Feeling himself the cynosure of neighbouring eyes and able to hear the comments of the crowd, the last part of his second's instructions was a little difficult of strict observation. 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.... ”St.u.r.dy 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. (if I had 'em) that he doesn't last a single round with Harberth”.

”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. He knocked Harberth clean out, they say.

Perhaps his father has had him properly taught and he can really box.

Ever seen him play footer? Nippiest little devil _I_ ever saw. Staunch too. Rum go,” commented his friend.

Dam thought of Sergeant Havlan and his son, the punching-ball, and the fighting days at Monksmead. Perhaps he could ”really” box, after all.

Anyhow he knew enough to hit straight and put his weight into it, to guard chin and mark, to use his feet, duck, dodge, and side step.