"Well, what did you think of it, comrade?"
The other gave his shoulders a joyous shrug.
"Mon Dieu! Have you heard of wan garcon named Joe Clamart, m'sieu?
Non? Well, I am Joe Clamart what was once great fightin' man.
Bateese hav' whip' me five times, m'sieu--so I say it was wan gr-
r-r-a-n' fight! Many years ago I have seen ze same t'ing in
Montreal--ze boxeur de profession. Oui, an' Rene Babin pays me
fifteen prime martin against which I put up three scrubby red fox
that you would win. They were bad, or I would not have gambled,
m'sieu. It ees fonny!"
"Yes, it is funny," agreed David. "I think it is a bit too funny.
It is a pity they did not stand up on their legs a little longer!"
Suddenly an inspiration hit him. "Joe, what do you say--shall you
and I return and put up a REAL fight for them?"
Like a sprung trap Joe Clamart's grinning mouth dosed. "Non, non,
non," he grunted. "Dere has been plenty fight, an' Joe Clamart
mus' save hees face tor Antoinette Roland, who hate ze sign of
fight lak she hate ze devil, m'sieu! Non, non!"
His paddle dug deeper into the water, and David's heart felt
lighter. If Joe was an average barometer, and he was a husky and
fearless-looking chap, it was probable that neither St.
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