Then came my turn. I dared to dart a hurried glance where stood the only onlooker whose applause I coveted. And she turned her head towards me.
So I took my run and cleared the bar.
"A match! a match!" cried the crowd, closing in a step; "a match between Will Peake and Humphrey Dexter."
"And take my sword and cloak," shouted a Bridge boy, who owned neither, "if Will Peake do not over-jump the printer's devil's head."
This made me angry. Not that I cared for the gibe; but because I disliked that one there should hear me called by so graceless a name.
Well, we jumped once more; but this time I dared not look anywhere, but straight before me. Yet I cleared the bar.
Whereupon the Bridge boys vaunted themselves more soberly, and he who had of