Funky Warren--no longer Funky.

So you'd better fight.

See ?" The Harberth bubble was evidently pricked, for the sentiment was applauded to the echo.
"I don't fight cowards," mumbled Harberth, holding his jaw--and, at this meanness, Dam was moved to go up to Harberth and slap him right hard upon his plump, inviting cheek, a good resounding blow that made his hand tingle with pain and his heart with pleasure.
He still identified him somehow with the Snake, and had a glorious, if passing, sensation of successful revolt and some revenge.
He felt as the lashed galley-slave must have felt when, during a lower-deck mutiny, he broke from his oar and sprang at the throat of the cruel overseer, the embodiment and source of the agony, starvation, toil, brutality, and hopeless woe that had thrust him below the level of the beasts (fortunate beasts) that perish.
"Now you've _got_ to fight him, of course," said Delorme, and fled to spread the glad tidings far and wide.
"I--I--don't feel well now," mumbled Harberth.

"I'll fight him when I'm better," and shambled away, outraged, puzzled, disgusted.

What was the world coming to?
The little brute! He had a punch like the kick of a horse.