Even Gerald felt rather alarmed when he saw the two contestants facing each other. Ben, who reached a height of six feet one, towered above his small antagonist as the spire of Trinity Church towers above surrounding buildings. A difference of six inches makes the difference between a tall man and a short one. Why is it that a man of six feet looks double the size of a man of five, though in reality only one fifth larger? It is an ocular deception which affects every one, but is not readily explained.

“If you want to back out, you kin do so,” said Ben good-naturedly.

“What, an’ spoil our fun?” demanded the old man. “No, stranger, it won’t do to back out now.”

“I have no intention of backing out, Mr. Peters,” said Noel Brooke firmly.

“That’s right! I like your pluck,” said the old man in a tone of relief, for he feared he would lose a spectacle which he expected to enjoy. He would have felt as badly disappointed, as the visitors to Jerome Park if the races should be postponed.

Noel Brooke had taken stock of his long-limbed adversary, and the result was that he felt encouraged. Ben had long arms, very long arms, but his figure, though muscular, was loose-jointed, and his motion indicated that he was slow. Now rapidity of movement is a very important thing in a contest such as was to take place between these two.

“Mr. Peters,” said the Englishman, “may I trouble you to give the signal by saying ‘Ready.’”

“Ready!” shouted the old man eagerly.

Ben began to move his arms in a flail-like way common to those who are untrained in the art of fighting, and advanced with the utmost confidence to the fray. If he had hit straight out his blows would have gone above the head of his antagonist, which was rather a disadvantage, though not so great perhaps as that under which Noel Brooke labored in being so short. It seemed to Ben, therefore, that he had better throw his long arms around his puny opponent, and, fairly lifting him off the ground, hold him helpless at his mercy.

“I won’t hurt him!” thought Ben magnanimously.

But somehow his plan miscarried. Noel Brooke skilfully evaded the close embrace which would have settled the fight then and there in favor of Ben, and skipping, first to one side, then to the other, rained in a shower of blows upon Ben, one of which took effect in his jaw, and drove him staggering back discomfited.

It may safely be said that never were three men more amazed than Mr. Peters and his two sons.

There stood Ben, actually staggering as if on the point of falling, while the Englishman, calm and unruffled, stood in an easy position watching for the next move.

Old Mr. Peters rose from the ground in his excitement.

“Pitch into him, Ben!” he shouted. “Ain’t you ashamed of bein’ beaten back by a little chap like that! Where’s your pluck? Are you goin’ to let a little undersized Britisher do you up afore your own father and brother?”

“No, dad, I’ll be eternally walloped if I will. Look out, there! I’m goin’ to smash yer. Look out I say! Here I come.”

“All right! I’ll look out,” said Noel Brooke calmly.

Ben stood a poorer chance now than before, for his unexpected defeat, and the raillery of his father, made him angry and reckless of consequences. He rushed at Brooke in an impetuous pell-mell manner which was utterly reckless and exposed him to attack, and which would have given his opponent a great advantage even if he had been less skilful.

Ben was excited, and Noel Brooke was not. Moreover, the tourist now thoroughly understood his advantage, and awaited the onslaught in calm confidence. Again he succeeded in avoiding the close hug by which Ben intended to paralyze and render him powerless, and took the opportunity to get in a couple of sledge-hammer blows, one of which took effect on Ben’s chin.

It was too much for him.

Like a tall poplar he swayed for a moment, and then, falling backward, measured his length upon the ground.

“Why, Ben!” exclaimed his father in angry amazement, “what’s got into yer? Hev you been drinkin’? Why, you can’t fight more’n an old cow! To be floored by a little chap like that!”

Ben rose from the ground slowly, looking dazed and bewildered.

“He knows how to fight, he does!” he said.

“Why, he ain’t half as big as you, Ben! Ain’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“No, I ain’t,” said Ben in a sulky tone. “If you think it’s so easy to tackle him do it yourself. He’s a reg’lar steam ingine, he is!”

“Will you try it again, Ben?” asked Brooke in a friendly tone.

“No, I won’t. I’ve had enough.”

His father was carried away by his angry excitement.

“I didn’t think one of my boys would disgrace me,” he said bitterly. “You’ve told me to tackle him myself, and I’ll be whipped if I don’t do it.”

“You’ll be whipped if you do, dad,” said Ben. “If I can’t lick him you can’t.”

“We’ll see,” said the old man, gritting his teeth. “Stranger, I’m goin’ for yer!”

“Wait a minute, sir,” said Brooke quietly. “I don’t mean to fight you.”

“You’re afraid, be you?” sneered the old man.

“You may put it that way if you like, but I’m not going to raise my hand against a man old enough to be my father.”

“I don’t ask no odds on account of my age. You’ll find me young enough for you.”

“Perhaps you are right, for I couldn’t fight with any spirit against you.”

“You’ve only licked Ben. Now you want to crawl off.”

“No; if your other son cares to meet me I’ll have a set-to with him.”

“Come, Abe, there’s your chance,” said the old man, addressing his eldest son. “Just stand up to the Britisher, and let him see that he can’t lick the whole Peters family.”

“All right, dad!” said Abe, rising and standing up a full inch taller than his younger brother. “The stranger’s a good fighter, but I reckon he can’t down me.”

He was tall, muscular, and with no superfluous flesh. It looked to Gerald as if his friend would find it a hard job to vanquish this backwoods giant.

“Wal, stranger, how do you feel about it?” asked Abe, as he saw Brooke apparently taking stock of his thews and sinews.

“I don’t know,” answered the tourist. “I had a hard job with your brother, but I think I’ll find it harder to tackle you.”

“Ho, ho! I think so too. Wal, dad, give the signal.”

Ben and his father seated themselves as spectators of the coming encounter. It may seem strange, but Ben’s good wishes were in favor of the stranger. He had been defeated, and if Abe were victorious he knew that he would never hear the last of it. But if Abe, too, were worsted he would have a very good excuse for his own failure. The father, however, felt eager to have the presumptuous Briton bite the dust under the triumphant blows of his eldest son.

Abe was not as impetuous or reckless as Ben. Indeed, had he been so naturally, Ben’s defeat would have made him careful.

He approached cautiously, and at the proper time he tried to overwhelm Brooke with what he called a “sockdolager.” But Noel Brooke had a quick eye, and drawing back evaded the onslaught which fell on the empty air. Before Abe could recover from the recoil the tourist dealt him a heavy blow beneath his left ear which nearly staggered him.

Ben laughed gleefully, and rubbed his hands.

“Now you see how ’tis yourself, Abe!” he cried.

“Shut up!” growled his father. “Don’t you go to crowin’ over your brother. He’s all right. Just wait!”

Abe’s rather sluggish temperament was angered by his brother’s derisive laugh, and he too lost his head. From this time he fought after Ben’s reckless fashion, of course laying himself open to attack—an opportunity of which the tourist availed himself.

When five minutes later Abe measured his length on the turf, Ben got up and bending over his prostrate brother said with a grin: “How did it happen, Abe? An accident, wasn’t it!”

“No,” answered Abe manfully. “I reckon the stranger’s too much for either of us.”

“Try it again, Abe!” said the old man in excitement.

“No, I’ve had enough, dad. I shan’t laugh at Ben any more. I can’t best the Englishman. I might try the boy.”

“No, thank you,” said Gerald laughing. “You could fight me with one hand.”

This modest confession helped to restore Abe’s good humor, and he shook hands with his adversary.

“You’re a smart ’un!” he said. “I didn’t think you had it in you, I didn’t by gum. But there’s one thing I can beat you in—and that’s shootin’.”