Lander felt no hostility toward this chap. The sandy hair and blue eyes and grinning mouth suggested good nature. He held his hands ready to foil a rush, and as Prevost became busy overseeing the other couple he took time to murmur:
"D'ye want to fight that Porker or Long Simons?"
"I'll fight anything," coldly answered Lander, striking a pawing hand aside.
"Wal, I won't." The confession was accompanied by a chuckle. "So ye needn't be hoggish in mountin' me, for ye're goin' to win mighty easy."
As he said this he deftly secured a grip on Lander's right wrist, dodged a drive of the left, and closed in. With both arms about Lander's waist and his head burrowing into his chest he proceeded to give a demonstration of striving to lift Lander off his feet. For a few moments Lander feared being thrown and struggled viciously, using his left against the head with short-armed jabs.
"What'n ye tryin' to do?" came the muffled query. "Tryin' to git me mad? I ain't hurtin' ye any, be I?"
Then Lander realized his opponent was con-
