“Let him get up, coward!” the lad shouted as he rushed to the spot.  “Let him get up, I tell you, and fight it out fair and square.”

The fellow was by no means disposed to give up the advantage he had obtained, however, and redoubled the vigour of his blows.

He was a strong thickset collier, not an easy man to tackle; but without more ado George flung himself at the bully, and toppled him over, the side of his head coming into violent collision with the rough planks of the landing-stage.

“Up with you, Jack!” George cried, and, seizing the hand of the prostrate sailor, he jerked him to his feet.  Jack, however, was of little more use when he had been helped up, and staggered about in a dazed and aimless sort of way.  He was, in truth, almost blind, his eyes scarce visible at all, so severe had been his punishment, while his face streamed with blood.

Meanwhile his antagonist had jumped to his feet, his face black with coaldust and distorted with fury.

“Two on ye!” he yelled with an oath, “then I must fend for myself,” and he seized a broken broom handle that was lying near.

“A game of singlestick is it?” George replied gleefully, as he made a successful grab at another stick a couple of yards away.  It was the handle of a shovel; there were several broken tools lying about the quay.

“Come on,” said the boy, brandishing his short but heavy weapon, “this is quite in my line, I can tell you!”

It was a curious sight as the two rushed upon each other, so unequal did the antagonists seem.  Bill, the collier, was tall as well as strongly built, and in the very prime of life; while George, though a sturdy lad for his age, was many inches shorter, and appeared at first sight an absurdly inadequate foeman.

In a moment the sticks were clattering merrily together, the lad hesitating not a whit, for he felt sure that he was at least a match for the other.  George Fairburn had ever been an adept at all school games, and had spent many a leisure hour at singlestick.  In vain did Bill endeavour to bring down his stick with furious whack upon the youngster’s scalp; his blow was unfailingly parried.  It was soon evident to the man that the boy was playing with him, and when twice or thrice he received a rap on his shoulder, his arm, his knuckles even, his fury got quite beyond his control, and he struck out blindly and viciously, forcing the lad backwards towards the edge of the wharf.

But Fairburn was not to be taken in that style.  Slipping agilely out of the way, he planted another blow, this time on his opponent’s head.  In a trice Bill threw down his cudgel and, raising his heavy boot, endeavoured to administer a vicious kick.  It was time to take to more effective tactics, and while the man’s leg was poised in the air, George put in a thwack that made his skull resound, and threw him quite off his already unstable balance.  Bill fell to the ground and lay there stunned, a roar of laughter hailing the exploit, with shouts of, “Thrashed by a lad; that’s a grand come off for Bill Hutchinson!”