He was much older
than the Maypole man, being to all appearance five-and-forty; but was
one of those self-possessed, hard-headed, imperturbable fellows, who, if
they are ever beaten at fisticuffs, or other kind of warfare, never know
it, and go on coolly till they win.
'If I led you wrong now,' said Hugh, tauntingly, 'you'd--ha ha
ha!--you'd shoot me through the head, I suppose.'
John Grueby took no more notice of this remark than if he had been deaf
and Hugh dumb; but kept riding on quite comfortably, with his eyes fixed
on the horizon.
'Did you ever try a fall with a man when you were young, master?' said
Hugh. 'Can you make any play at single-stick?'
John Grueby looked at him sideways with the same contented air, but
deigned not a word in answer.
'--Like this?' said Hugh, giving his cudgel one of those skilful
flourishes, in which the rustic of that time delighted. 'Whoop!'
'--Or that,' returned John Grueby, beating down his guard with his whip,
and striking him on the head with its butt end. 'Yes, I played a little
once. You wear your hair too long; I should have cracked your crown if
it had been a little shorter.'
It was a pretty smart, loud-sounding rap, as it was, and evidently
astonished Hugh; who, for the moment, seemed disposed to drag his new
acquaintance from his saddle.
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