The Amateur Gentleman | Page 5

till to-day I hardly dared hope my dream would ever be realized--but now--"
"Now you want to go to London and be a gentleman--hey?"
"Yes."
"Which all comes along o' your reading o' fool book! Why, Lord! you can no more become a gentleman than I can or the--blunderbuss yonder. And because why? Because a gentleman must be a gentleman born, and his father afore him, and his father afore him. You, Barnabas, you was born the son of a Champion of England, an' that should be enough for most lads; but your head's chock full o' fool's notions an' crazy fancies, an' as your lawful father it's my bounden duty to get 'em out again, Barnabas my lad." So saying, John Barty proceeded to take off his coat and belcher neckerchief, and rolled his shirt sleeves over his mighty forearms, motioning Barnabas to do the like.
"A father's duty be a very solemn thing, Barnabas," he continued slowly, "an' your 'ead being (as I say) full o' wild idees, I'm going to try to punch 'em out again as a well-meaning father should, so help me back wi' the table out o' the road, an' off wi' your coat and neckercher."
Well knowing the utter futility of argument with his father at such a time, Barnabas obediently helped to set back the table, thus leaving the floor clear, which done, he, in turn, stripped off coat and neckcloth, and rolled up his sleeves, while his father watched him with sharply appraising eye.
"You peel well, Barnabas," he nodded. "You peel like a fighting man, you've a tidy arm an' a goodish spread o' shoulder, likewise your legs is clean an' straight, but your skin's womanish, Barnabas, womanish, an' your muscles soft wi' books. So, lad!--are ye ready? Then come on."
Thus, without more ado they faced each other foot to foot, bare-armed and alert of eye. For a moment they sparred watchfully, then John Barty feinted Barnabas into an opening, in that same moment his fist shot out and Barnabas measured his length on the floor.
"Ah--I knowed as much!" John sighed mournfully as he aided Barnabas to his feet, "and 't were only a love-tap, so to speak,--this is what comes o' your book reading."
"Try me again," said Barnabas.
"It'll be harder next time!" said his father.
"As hard as you like!" nodded Barnabas.
Once more came the light tread of quick-moving feet, once more John Barty feinted cunningly--once more his fist shot out, but this time it missed its mark, for, ducking the blow, Barnabas smacked home two lightning blows on his father's ribs and danced away again light and buoyant as a cork.
"Stand up an' fight, lad!" growled his father, "plant your feet square--never go hopping about on your toe-points like a French dancing-master."
"Why as to that, father, Natty Bell, as you know, holds that it is the quicker method," here Barnabas smote his father twice upon the ribs, "and indeed I think it is," said he, deftly eluding the ex-champion's return.
"Quicker, hey?" sneered his father, and with the words came his fist--to whizz harmlessly past Barnabas's ear--"we'll prove that."
"Haven't we had almost enough?" inquired Barnabas, dropping his fists.
"Enough? why we aren't begun yet, lad."
"Then how long are we to go on?"
"How long?" repeated John, frowning; "why--that depends on you, Barnabas."
"How on me, father?"
"Are ye still minded to go to London?"
"Of course."
"Then we'll go on till you think better of it--or till you knock me down, Barnabas my lad."
"Why then, father, the sooner I knock you down the better!"
"What?" exclaimed John Barty, staring, "d' ye mean to say--you think you can?--me?--you?"
"Yes," nodded Barnabas.
"My poor lad!" sighed his father, "your head's fair crazed, sure as sure, but if you think you can knock John Barty off his pins, do it, and there y' are."
"I will," said Barnabas, "though as gently as possible."
And now they fell to it in silence, a grim silence broken only by the quick tread and shuffle of feet and the muffled thud of blows. John Barty, resolute of jaw, indomitable and calm of eye, as in the days when champions had gone down before the might of his fist; Barnabas, taller, slighter, but full of the supreme confidence of youth. Moreover, he had not been the daily pupil of two such past masters in the art for nothing; and now he brought to bear all his father's craft and cunning, backed up by the lightning precision of Natty Bell. In all his many hard-fought battles John Barty had ever been accounted most dangerous when he smiled, and he was smiling now. Twice Barnabas staggered back to the wall, and there was an ugly smear upon his cheek, yet as they struck and parried, and feinted, Barnabas, this quick-eyed, swift-footed Barnabas, was smiling also. Thus, while they smiled upon and smote each other, the likeness