"'Twas no credit to me," I owned. "You let go your hand. The horse is
yours."

"Not in the least," he responded, "not in the least. If I felt I had won
him I'd take him, and not leave you feeling as though you had been given
a present. But if you like I'll draw my own little wager as well. You're
the best man I ever met in any country. By the Lord! man, you broke the
hold that I once saw an ex-guardsman killed at Singapore for
resisting--broke his arm short off, and he died on the table. I've seen
it at Tokio and Nagasaki--why, man, it's the yellow policeman's hold,
the secret trick of the Orient. Done in proper time, and the little
gentleman is the match of any size, yellow or white."

I did not understand him then, but later I knew that I had for my first
time seen the Oriental art of wrestling put in practice. I do not want
to meet a master in it again. I shook Orme by the hand.

"If you like to call it a draw," said I, "it would suit me mighty well.
You're the best man I ever took off coat to in my life. And I'll never
wrestle you again unless"--I fear I blushed a little--"well, unless you
want it."

"Game! Game!" he cried, laughing, and dusting off his knees. "I swear
you Virginians are fellows after my own heart. But come, I think your
friend wants you now."

We turned toward the room where poor Harry was mumbling to himself, and
presently I loaded him into the wagon and told the negro man to drive
him home.