"If there is not, they are here that shall compel you," returned
George. "so, friend, I rede you to be on your guard."

As he said this, a flush of anger glowed in his handsome face and
flashed from his sparkling blue eye; but it was a stranger to both,
and momently took its departure. The black-coated youth set up
his cap before, brought his heavy brows over his deep dark eyes,
put his hands in the pockets of his black plush breeches, and
stepped a little farther into the semicircle, immediately on his
brother's right hand, than he had ever ventured to do before.
There he set himself firm on his legs, and, with a face as demure
as death, seemed determined to keep his ground. He pretended to
he following the ball with his eyes; but every moment they were
glancing aside at George. One of the competitors chanced to say
rashly, in the moment of exultation, "That's a d--d fine blow,
George!" On which the intruder took up the word, as
characteristic of the competitors, and repeated it every stroke that
was given, making such a ludicrous use of it that several of the
onlookers were compelled to laugh immoderately; but the players
were terribly nettled at it, as he really contrived, by dint of sliding
in some canonical terms, to render the competitors and their game
ridiculous.

But matters at length came to a crisis that put them beyond sport.
George, in flying backward to gain the point at which the ball
was going to light, came inadvertently so rudely in contact with
this obstreperous interloper that lie not only overthrew him, but
also got a grievous fall over his legs; and, as he arose, the other
made a spurn at him with his foot, which, if it had hit to its aim,