“You’re aboveboard all right. You dunna do things secret. Man, I could
hear you hollering even to Plash! Oot wrostle?”
Now, for all he was so big, Huglet didna want to wrostle. He
hiver-hovered over it a good bit, for he knew Kester was a right proper
wrostler. But many of the people knew nothing about Kester, and wouldna
have cared if they had, for they only wanted a good day’s sport. This
was what Kester had reckoned on.
“A wrestling match!” they called out, quite in a pleasant humour again,
though what they’d be after, nobody could say.
“Haw-whop!” cries out old Callard, pretty well beside himself with
excitement, and the children, seeing Kester and remembering their
lessons, folded their hands very primly over their stomachs and sang
out—
“Bull-baiting’s bad!” which would have made me laugh if I hadna been so
uneasy in mind about Kester.
“A ring! Make a ring!”
“Ah, chaps, there’s a nice smooth bit of turf there,” says Kester,
pointing to a place close by the water. So they made a ring there.
Kester stripped off his coat and weskit, and Huglet took his off
unwilling. There were some hasty wagers made. Then they set to at it. I
thought Huglet would crush every one of Kesters bones, but no! Kester
was hard, and a practised wrestler, and when Huglet seemed to have got
him safe and sure, he was out of his grip, ready to start all over
again. A tuthree times Huglet bore him back till his one shoulder very
near touched the ground, but each time he wrostled free, sharp and
sudden, so it was only a _foyle_, and didna count. I was in a terror all
the while that Huglet, by his great strength, would break Kester’s back,
and I could see he’d dearly like to, for he’d forgotten everything but
hate of the man who’d twice robbed him of his sport. I wondered why
Kester didna try, by some feint, to get him down, but Felena whispered—
“He’s got summat in mind, Weaver has. He’s tarrying for summat.”
All the while Kester kept edging nigher to the water, and I wondered at
it, for the mud was very slippery there.
Then, all in a minute, it was done. Though how it was done, I never knew
to this day. Kester said it was a new throw he’d learnt in the city.
Anyway, in the blink of an eye, Huglet was flung, not only onto the
ground but clean out into the water. He went in souse, and when he
struggled out, which he did with a deal of difficulty, for he’d gone all
his length and the mud was very sticky, there was such a roar of
laughter that he blenched. And indeed he was a comical sight. Miller,
who stood by, smiled for the first time in anybody’s memory, as if to
say, “Another kit-cat in the water!”
Kester stood a minute, breathed with the tremenjous heave, getting his
wind. Then he took the rein from Callard, put foot in stirrup, and was
in the saddle.
“I’d lief,” says Felena, low, “I’d lief be on that saddle afore you,
Weaver.”