Tom was a wonderfully fine wrestler, but none present knew it.

He affected to be timid.
"You are bigger than I, and it would hardly be fair," replied Tom, surveying the bulky form of his challenger.
"O pshaw! you are as heavy as I; besides, I will let you down easy." "Try him, Gordon," whispered one of the clerks.
"If you will promise not to throw me too hard," said Tom doubtfully, "I will take one turn with you." "Of course I won't hurt you," grinned Zeigler, eager for the chance to humiliate the fellow whom he despised.
All saw his purpose, and none more plainly than Tom himself.
The two doffed their coats and vests, and took their station in the middle of the room, with their arms interlocked.

Tom pretended an awkwardness which deceived the others, and convinced Zeigler, to use a common expression, he had a "cinch" in this little affair.
They struggled for a minute, and then, with the suddenness seemingly of a flash of lightning, Zeigler's heels shot toward the ceiling, and he came down on his back with a crash that shook the windows.
"I thought you knew something about wrestling," remarked Tom, standing erect, and looking down on him with a smile, "but you don't know anything at all." The two spectators were convulsed with laughter.

Zeigler's face was a fiery crimson, and he scrambled to his feet in a fury.
"That was a slip; you can't do it again!" he exclaimed, springing at Tom and hastily locking arms with him.
"All right; we'll see.

Now do your best, for I mean to throw you just as I did a minute ago.