"
"And that is true enough, too," said the Englishman, struck by
the appeal.
"Adzooks!" exclaimed the bailiff--"sure Harry Wakefield, the
nattiest lad at Whitson Tryste, Wooler Fair, Carlisle Sands, or
Stagshaw Bank, is not going to show white feather? Ah, this
comes of living so long with kilts and bonnets--men forget the
use of their daddles."
"I may teach you, Master Fleecebumpkin, that I have not lost the
use of mine," said Wakefield and then went on. "This will never
do, Robin. We must have a turn-up, or we shall be the talk of
the country-side. I'll be d--d if I hurt thee--I'll put on the
gloves gin thou like. Come, stand forward like a man."
"To be peaten like a dog," said Robin; "is there any reason in
that? If you think I have done you wrong, I'll go before your
shudge, though I neither know his law nor his language."
A general cry of "No, no--no law, no lawyer! a bellyful and be
friends," was echoed by the bystanders.
"But," continued Robin, "if I am to fight, I have no skill to
fight like a jackanapes, with hands and nails."
"How would you fight then?" said his antagonist; "though I am
thinking it would be hard to bring you to the scratch anyhow.
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