“And there was Simon Withers, too,” went on Miss Lucy, “he sprained his ankle at the wrestling, and was in the house for three weeks, and his poor old mother nearly starving.” “’Twasn’t at wrestling, though,” said Joe, “’twas at hurdle-racing. He’d much better have been at backsword; for a chap can go to work with a broken head next morning, and feel all the better for it, but he can’t with a sprained ankle.” “What does Mr. Warton think?” said I; for somehow he was keeping back, and seemed a little on Joe’s side, and if he showed that, I thought he would lose ground with Miss Lucy. “Oh! I’m sure Mr. Warton is on our side, ain’t you, Sir? Do tell Joe how wrong it is of him to go on talking as he does.” “No, no, Miss Lucy, I’m not going to be drawn into the quarrel as your knight; you’re quite able to take your own part,” said Mr. Warton. “I’m sure Mr. Warton is against us in his heart,” said I to Miss Lucy; “only he’s a clergyman, and doesn’t like to say so.” “Come, now, I can’t stand that,” said he to me; “and you and I must have it out; only mind, Miss Lucy, you mustn’t come in; one at a time is enough for me.” “I won’t say a word, Sir, if Joe won’t.” “Very well,” said he, “and now let’s get our ground clear. Do you approve of the other sports, running matches, jumping matches, and all the rest?” “Yes, Sir, of course I do,” said I. “And you see no harm in one man beating another in a race for a prize?” “No, Sir, no harm at all.” “Well, but I suppose one must have activity and endurance to win in any of them?” “Yes,” said I, “and good pluck, too, Sir. It takes as much heart, I’m sure, any day, to win a hard race as a bout at backsword.” “Very good,” said he. “Then putting every thing else aside, tell me which you think the best man, he who doesn’t mind having his head broken, or he who does?” “Well, Sir,” said I, beginning to fence a bit, for I thought I saw what he was driving at, “that depends on circumstances.” “No, no,” said he, “I want a short answer. We’ve nothing to do with circumstances. Suppose there were no circumstances in the world, and only two men with heads to be broken?” “Well, then, Sir,” said I, “I suppose the one who doesn’t mind having his head broken, must be the best man.” “Hah, hah!” laughed Joe, “that puts me in mind of old Ben Thomson last feast. When he threw up his hat on the stage, he said he could get his pint of beer any day for tuppence, but it wasn’t every day as he could get his pint of beer and a broken head too for the same money.” “Oh, but Mr. Warton--” broke in Miss Lucy. “Now, you were not to say a word, you know,” said he. “But Joe began, Sir.” “Joseph, hold your tongue.” “Very well, Sir,” said Joe, grinning. “Then we come to this,” said he to me, “a man must have just the same qualities to win at backsword as to win a race; and something else besides, which is good in itself?”