"I won’t have it!" he said. "I’m ashamed that you grown-up chaps can sink to temper like this and disgrace yourselves and me and the company. Strangers present too! If you want to fight, then fight in a decent and gentlemanly way--not like two dogs over a bone." "I do want to fight," said Bartley. "I want nothing better in this world than to give that man the damnedest hiding ever a man had." "And I’m the same," said Bowden. He was now quite calm again. "I’m sorry I forgot myself in your bar, Mr. Shillabeer, but no man can say I hadn’t enough to make me. I’ll not talk big nor threaten, nor say what I’ll do to him, but I’ll fight him for all he’s worth--to-morrow if he likes." "Now you’re talking sense," declared the innkeeper. "A fair fight no man can object to, and if it’s known in the proper quarters and not in the wrong ones, there ought to be a little money moving for both of you. How do they stand for a match, Fogo? Come forward, David, and let ’Frosty-face’ have a look at you." "Let ’em shake hands first," said Mr. Fogo. "I’ll do so," declared Bowden, "on the understanding that we’re to fight this side of Christmas." "The sooner the better," retorted Crocker. Then they shook hands and Mr. Fogo’s glittering eyes inspected them. "Weight as near as can be," he said. "At least, I judge it without seeing your barrels. This man’s the younger, I suppose." He pointed to Bartley. "I’m twenty-five," said Mr. Crocker. "Ay; and stand six feet--?" "Five feet eleven and a half." "Weight eleven stone?" "A bit less." Mr. Fogo nodded. "You’ve got the reach, t’other chap’s got the powder." Then he examined David. "Age?" he said. "Twenty-eight." "Height?" "Five foot nine." "Weight?" "Eleven two, or thereabout." "Do either of you know anything of the art?" "I don’t," said Bartley. "No more don’t I," added Bowden. Fogo looked them up and down carefully. "There’s no reason on the surface why you shouldn’t fight a pretty mill." "How long can you stop with me, ’Frosty’?" asked Mr. Shillabeer. "Well, if there was a few yellow-boys[#] in it, I might go as far as three weeks. I ought to see Tom King about something of the greatest importance before long; but I can write it. If these chaps will come to the scratch in three weeks, I’ll stop. And they both look hard and healthy; and as neither of ’em know anything, it may be a short fight." [#] Sovereigns. Much talk followed and, in the midst, the visitor rose, put down his pipe and left the bar. Then up spoke Ernest Maunder in the majesty of the law. "I warn you, souls," he said, "that I can’t countenance this. If there’s to be fighting, you’ve got me against you, and to-morrow I shall lay information with the Justice of the Peace and get a warrant out." "I hope you’ll mind your own business," said Crocker, warmly. "The man who spoils sport when Bowden and me meet, is like to get spoilt himself."