And he emptied his glass as though that settled the matter.

“Well, sir,” says old Jack, smiling, “there was skill a-plenty, and you can take my word for it. You wouldn’t see it, ’cos you don’t know what to look for, just as I wouldn’t know what to look for in your schlag-what-you-call-’ems.”

“No,” says Bismarck, “likely you would not.” And the tone of his voice made Gully look sharp at him, although he said nothing. Then Tom Perceval, sensing that there might be trouble if the subject wasn’t changed, started to say something about hunting, but I had seen my chance to set this arrogant Prussian down, and I interrupted him.

“Perhaps you think boxing is easy,” says I to Bismarck. “D’ye fancy you could hold your own in a mill?”

He stares at me across the table. “With one of those brawlers?” says he at length. “A gentleman does not come to physical contact with those people, surely?”

“We don’t have serfs in England,” says I. “There isn’t a man round this table wouldn’t be glad to put ’em up with Nick Ward—aye, and honoured, too. But in your case—suppose there was a sporting German baron whose touch wouldn’t sully you? Would you be ready to try it with him?”

“Hold on, Flash—” says Perceval, but I carried on.

“Or a gentleman from among ourselves, for example? Would you be ready to go a round or two with one of us?”

Those cold eyes of his were damned uncomfortable on me, but I held his gaze, for I knew I’d got him. He considered a moment, and then said:

“Is this a challenge?”

“Good God, no,” says I. “Only you think that our good old game is just a brawl, and I’d like to show you different. If I were asked, I’d be ready enough to try my hand at this schlager business of yours. Well, what d’ye say?”

“I see you are smarting for revenge after our race the other day,” says he, smiling. “Very well, Captain, I shall try a round with you.”

I believe he had weighed me up for a coward who wouldn’t be much good, in which he was right, and that he also thought—like many another ignoramus—that boxing was pure brute force and nothing more, in which he was wrong. Also, he had seen that a good part of it was body wrestling, of which no doubt he had some experience. And he knew he was pretty well as big and strong as I. But I had a surprise in store for him.

“Not with me,” says I. “I’m no Nick Ward. Anyway, my idea is instruction, not revenge, and the best instructor in the whole world is sitting within ten feet of you.” And I nodded at Gully.

All I intended was to make a fool of Bismarck, which I knew Gully could do with one hand behind his back, and so cut his comb for him. I hadn’t any hope that Gully would hurt him, for unfortunately old Jack, like most champions, was a gentle, kindly sort of fool. Indeed, at my proposal, he burst out laughing.