THE CAT'S HOLIDAY
man hammered the plunger of the table-bell.
At the first stroke Cutts rolled out to his place, and before the last he was plunging forward, greedy to give and take. This time, however, Scarlett danced free, just beyond reach, "with wanton heed and giddy cunning"; placed a light blow now and then, romped round the sailor, and stepped aside from his heavy charges, as a chulo evades a bull. Once or twice, laughter rose. And as Owen had hoped, the sunburned face that swayed before him took on a settled scowl. For two minutes he skirmished thus. "That's the game!" crowed his backer, repeatedly. At last, with a snarl—"Fight, damn ye!"—Cutts ran for him wildly, lashed out at full stretch.
The glove rasped hot past Owen's neck, in the same instant that, with all his power and to the impetus of both bodies, he gave the
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