The Manxman

"I was, and don't demane yourself like that again," said Caesar.

"Like what?" said Ross.

"Paying coort to a girl that isn't fit for you."

Ross lifted his hat, "Do you mean this young lady?"

"No young lady at all, sir, but the daughter of a plain, respectable man that isn't going to see her fooled. Your hat to your head, sir. You'll be wanting it for the road."

"Father!" cried Kate, in a voice of fear.

Caesar turned his rough shoulder and said, "Go to your room, ma'am, and keep it for a week."

"You may go," said Ross. "I'll spare the old simpleton for your sake, Kate."

"You'll spare me, sir?" cried Caesar. "I've seen the day--but thank the Lord for restraining grace! Spare me? If you had said as much five-and-twenty years ago, sir, your head would have gone ringing against the wall."

"I'll spare you no more, then," said Ross. "Take that--and that."

Amid screams from the women, two sounding blows fell on Caesar's face. At the next instant Philip was standing between the two men.

"Come this way," he said, addressing Ross.

"If I like," Ross answered.

"This way, I tell you," said Philip.

Ross snapped his fingers. "As you please," he said, and then followed Philip out of the house.

Kate had run upstairs in terror, but five minutes afterwards she was on the road, with a face full of distress, and a shawl over head and shoulders. At the bridge she met Kelly, the postman.

"Which way have they gone," she panted, "the young Ballawhaine and Philip Christian?"

"I saw them heading down to the Curragh," said Kelly, and Kate in the shawl, flew like a bird over the ground in that direction.

V.

The two young men went on without a word. Philip walked with long strides three paces in front, with head thrown back, pallid face and contracted features, mouth firmly shut, arms stiff by his side, and difficult and audible breathing. Ross slouched behind with an air of elaborate carelessness, his horse beside him, the reins over its head and round his arm, the riding-whip under his other arm-pit, and both his hands deep in the breeches pockets. There was no road the way they went, but only a cart track, interrupted here and there by a gate, and bordered by square turf pits half full of water.

The days were long and the light was not yet failing. Beyond the gorse, the willows, the

"Far enough, aren't we?" shouted Ross, but Philip pushed on. He drew up at last in an open s.p.a.ce, where the gorse had been burnt away and its black remains desolated the surface and killed the odours of life. There was not a house near, not a landmark in sight, except a windmill on the sea's verge, and the ugly tower of a church, like the funnel of a steams.h.i.+p between sea and sky.

"We're alone at last," he said hoa.r.s.ely.

"We are," said Ross, interrupting the whistling of a tune, "and now that you've got me here, perhaps you'll be good enough to tell me what we've come for."

Philip made no more answer than to strip himself of his coat and waistcoat.

"You're never going to make a serious business of this stupid affair?"

said Ross, leaning against the horse and slapping the sole of one foot with the whip.

"Take off your coat," said Philip in a thick voice.

"Can I help it if a pretty girl----" began Ross.

"Will you strip?" cried Philip.

Ross laughed. "Ah! now I remember our talk of the other night. But you don't mean to say," he said, flipping at the flies at the horse's head, "that because the little woman is forgetting the curmudgeon that's abroad----"

Philip strode up to him with clenched hands and quivering lips and said, "Will you fight?"

Ross laughed again, but the blood was in his face, and he said tauntingly, "I wouldn't distress myself, man. Daresay I'll be done with the girl before the fellow----"

"You're a scoundrel," cried Philip, "and if you won't stand up to me----"

Ross flung away his whip. "If I must, I must," he said, and then threw the horse's reins round the charred arm of a half-destroyed gorse tree.

A minute afterwards the young men stood face to face.

"Stop," said Ross, "let me tell you first; it's only fair. Since I went up to London I've learnt a thing or two. I've stood up before men that can strip a picture; I've been opposite talent and I can peck a bit, but I've never heard that you can stop a blow."

"Are you ready?" cried Philip.

"As you will. You shall have one round, you'll want no more."

The young men looked badly matched. Ross, in riding-breeches and s.h.i.+rt, with red bullet head and sprawling feet, arms like an oak and veins like willow boughs. Philip in s.h.i.+rt and knickerbockers, with long fair hair, quivering face, and delicate figure. It was strength and some skill against nerve alone.

Like a rush of wind Philip came on, striking right and left, and was driven back by a left-hand body-blow.

"There, you've got it," said Ross, smiling benignly. "Didn't I tell you?

That's old Bristol Bull to begin with."

Philip rushed on again, and came back with a smas.h.i.+ng blow that cut his nether lip.

"You've got a second," said Ross. "Have you had enough?"

Philip did not hear, but sprang fiercely at Ross once more. The next instant he was on the ground. Then Ross took on a manner of utter contempt. "I can't keep on flipping at you all night."

"Mock me when you've beaten me," said Philip, and he was on his feet again, somewhat blown, but fresh as to spirit and doggedly resolute.

"Toe the scratch, then," said Ross. "I must say you're good at your gruel."

Philip flung himself on his man a third time, and fell more heavily than before, under a flush hit that seemed to bury itself in his chest.