As for strength, he could break a pint mug with one
hand, creaming it between his fingers. Then there was Jago the
Preventive man, light but wiry, and a very tricky wrestler: "a proper
angle-twitch of a man," said one of the company; "stank 'pon both
ends of 'en, and he'll rise up in the middle and laugh at 'ee."
So they picked Jago for boat-oar. For No. 5, after a little dispute,
they settled on Tippet Harry, a boat-builder working in Runnell's
yard, by reason that he'd often pulled behind Ede in the
double-sculling, and might be trusted to set good time to the
bow-side. Nos. 2 and 3 were not so easily settled, and they
discussed and put aside half a score before offering one of the
places to a long-legged youngster whose name I can't properly give
you: he was always called Freckly-Faced Joe, and worked as a
saddler's apprentice. In the end he rowed 2; but No. 3 they left
vacant for the time, while they looked around for likely candidates.
Landlord Oke made no mistake when he promised that Sally meant
business. Two days later she popped her head in at his bar-parlour--
'twas in the slack hours of the afternoon, and he happened to be
sitting there all by himself, tipping a sheaf of churchwarden clays
with sealing-wax--and says she:
"What's the matter with your menkind?"
"Restin'," says Oke with a grin.
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