standin' ready for me, wi' the sticklers about you, an' I looked you
up an' down--a brave figure of a man. You'd longer arms than me, an'
two inches to spare in height; prettier shoulders, too, I'd never
clapp'd eyes on. But I guessed myself a trifle the deeper, an' a
trifle the cleaner i' the matter o' loins an' quarters: an' I
promised that I'd outlast 'ee.

"You got the sun an' the best hitch, an' after a rough an' tumble
piece o' work, we went down togither, you remember--no fair back.
The second hitch was just about equal; an' I gripped up the sackin'
round your shoulders, an' creamed it into the back o' your neck, an'
held you off, an' meant to keep you off till you was weak. Ten good
minnits I laboured with 'ee by the stickler's watch, an' you heaved
an' levered in vain, till I heard your breath alter its pace, an'
felt the strength tricklin' out o' you, an' knew 'ee for a done man.
'Now,' thinks I, 'half a minnit more, an' you shall learn how the
blacksmith felt.' I glanced up over your shoulder for a moment at the
folks i' the ring: an' who should my eye light on but your girl?

"I hadn't got a sweetheart then, an' I've never had one since--never
saw another woman who could ha' looked what she looked. I was
condemned a single man there on the spot: an', what's more, I was
condemned to lose the belt. There was that 'pon her face that no man
is good enow to cause; an' there was suthin I wanted to see instead--
just for a moment--that I could ha' given forty silver mugs to fetch
up.

"An' I looked at her over your shoulders wi' a kind o' question i' my
face, an' I _did_ fetch it up. The next moment, you had your chance
and cast me flat. When I came round--for you were always an ugly