as his pressure on my
twisted arm relaxed, I suddenly got back my faculties. At once I used my
whole body as a spring, and so straightened enough to turn and put my
arm power against his own, which was all I wanted.

He laughed when I turned, and with perfect good nature freed my arm and
sprang to his feet, bowing with hand upreached to me. His eye had lost
its peculiar stare, and shone now with what seemed genuine interest and
admiration. He seemed ready to call me a sportsman, and a good rival,
and much as I disliked to do so, I was obliged to say as much for him in
my own heart.

"By the Lord! sir," he said--with a certain looseness of speech, as it
seemed to me, for a minister of the gospel to employ, "you're the first
I ever knew to break it."

"'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.

For myself, I mounted Satan and rode off up the street of Wallingford
toward Cowles' Farms with my head dropped in thought; for certainly,
when I came to review the incidents of the morning, I had had enough to
give me reason for reflection.