Sam was heavier and stronger than Yan, but Yan had gained wonderfully
since coming to Sanger. He was thin, but wiry, and at school he had
learned the familiar hip-throw that is as old as Cain and Abel. It was
all he did know of wrestling, but now it stood him in good stead. He
was strong with rage, too--and almost as soon as they grappled he
found his chance. Sam's heels flew up and he went sprawling in the
dust. One straight blow on the nose sent Guy off howling, and seeing
Sam once more on his feet, Yan rushed at him again like a wild beast.
A moment later the big boy went tumbling over the bank into the pond.
"_You_ see if I don't get you sent about your business from
here," spluttered Sam, now thoroughly angry. "I'll tell Da you hender
the wurruk." His eyes were full of water and Guy's were full of stars
and of tears. Neither saw the fourth party near; but Yan did. There,
not twenty yards away, stood William Raften, spectator of the whole
affair--an expression not of anger but of infinite sorrow and
disappointment on his face--not because they had quarrelled--no--he
knew boy nature well enough not to give that a thought--but that
_his_ son, older and stronger than the other and backed by
another boy, should be licked in fair fight by a thin, half-invalid.
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