I caught him by
the wrist, and as he stumbled past, I turned and had his arm over my
shoulder. I admit I threw him rather cruelly hard, for I thought he
needed it. He was entirely quiet when we carried him into the room and
placed him on the leather lounge.
"By Jove!" I heard a voice at my elbow. "That was handsomely
done--handsomely done all around."
I turned to meet the outstretched hand of my new friend, Gordon Orme.
"Where did you learn the trick?" he asked.
"The trick of being a gentleman," I answered him slowly, my face red
with anger at Singleton's foolishness, "I never learned at all. But to
toss a poor drunken fool like that over one's head any boy might learn
at school."
"No," said my quasi-minister of the gospel, emphatically, "I differ with
you. Your time was perfect. You made him do the work, not yourself. Tell
me, are you a skilled wrestler?"
I was nettled now at all these things which were coming to puzzle and
perturb an honest fellow out for a morning ride.
"Yes," I answered him, "since you are anxious to know, I'll say I can
throw any man in Fairfax except one."
"And he?"
"My father. He's sixty, as I told you, but he can always beat me.
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