The contestants circled, feinted, rolled together on the matting, grunted, clutched and appeared to do everything short of strangling one another. The audience shouted and stamped and the affair went three rounds, but even by the end of the second round the thin fellow appeared to be getting the worst of it. At the beginning of the fourth round it was all over, and in the most sensational manner. The bulkier man suddenly, thrillingly and theatrically caught up his opponent bodily and literally flung him into the auditorium, where, true to his tiger-cat title, he landed miraculously on his feet in the clear space between the front of the stage and the first row of the backless benches. He climbed back on to the stage, shook his head as his opponent came forward and slouched off into the wings.
The victor bowed to the sporadic applause and the fat impresario came to the front of the stage again.
'See 'ow easy, gen'lemen sportsmen! Who's for winnin' five pounds? Don't all roll up at once. Come on, now. Who's goin' to try his luck? We'll just give the Cat time to get his breath back, and then...' Before he had time to finish, a thickset young countryman, propelled by the willing hands of his friends, was thrust, stumbling and protesting, to the foot of the wooden steps. The fat man stretched out a welcoming hand. 'Good for you, sir,' he said, as the youth was pulled and pushed up on to the stage.
There were preliminaries. The lad was taken behind the scenes and re-appeared, looking sheepish, stripped to his shirt, trousers and socks. Then the Tiger-Cat came on and they shook hands.
'Go it, Breezer!' shouted those in the audience who knew the unwilling challenger.
'Go it, Tiger-Cat!' yelled Kenneth, springing to his feet and leaping into the gangway.
'Interducin' Breezer Ben Trucket,' bellowed the fat man. 'Challengin' Tiger-Cat Bellamy Smith for the MAGNIFICENT purse of five jimmy o' goblins! Place your bets, gen'lemen sportsmen. Who'll have half-a-dollar on the Breezer?'
'Dollar and an'arf on the Cat,' shouted a voice from the back. The fat man smiled indulgently, shook his head, thanked the audience for their kind appreciation and gave a signal. A bell rang and the contest was on.
'Uncle Arthur,' I remember saying, 'has the Tiger-Cat changed his suit? He looks all shiny.'
'Greased all over,' Uncle Arthur replied. 'It's an old trick. That lad won't ever get a grip of him.'
The drunk, who had managed to get up, must have overheard this. Having risen to his feet, he wobbled uncertainly, supported himself by holding on to the shoulders of a small man in the row in front, gave a terrific belch and shouted out:
'He'sh oiled! The Cat'sh oiled! Drown that (hic!) Cat. He'sh oiled!'
'You're oiled!' called out someone near the front, turning round.
'Siddown, yer fool!' shouted others.
'Gen'lemen, please!' yelled the fat man, advancing once again to the front of the stage. 'Keep your seats, gen'lemen, please! Kindly keep your SEATS!'
At this critical moment the Tiger-Cat elected to become tactless. He abandoned the dodging and feinting with which he had been lulling the audience into a hope that Breezer Ben, the pride of whatever Oxfordshire village he came from, might actually win the five-pound prize, lifted him into the air, flung him down and appeared to jump on him. Ben forgot his manhood and gave a boyish squeal of agony. At this, his friends, who numbered at least half a dozen, most of them more than half-drunk, rushed the platform, knocking the fat man down.
The rest of the audience reacted according to their various natures. Some yelled, 'Siddown!' Others stamped on the ground and whistled through their fingers. One or two made for the exit. A tall, dark woman in the front row darted up the steps on to the platform and flung herself into the fray on behalf of the Tiger-Cat, who looked (grease or no grease) as though he was going to take a dreadful bashing from Ben's infuriated friends. The seconds rushed in and what Kipling would have called 'a melee of a sumptuous kind' ensued, with the dark woman in the thick of it.
Kenneth, still in the gangway, suddenly shrieked, 'It's Sukie! Leave her alone! Leave her alone, you beasts!' He ran towards the flight of steps. Uncle Arthur shoved me backwards, pushed past me and tore after him. A few moments later, with Kenneth tucked ignominiously under Uncle Arthur's arm and with myself in frightened but, all the same, unwilling tow, we left the now seething marquee and were just in time to see a couple of policemen approaching it. At the same moment Sukie and the Tiger-Cat crawled out from between two of the tent-pegs, spotted the policemen and snaked off into the gloom beyond the public house just as St Swithin's clock chimed the three-quarters to eleven.
We had much to tell Aunt Kirstie when we got home, but as soon as she had given us cocoa and biscuits she took us straight over, in the midst of our excited babbling, to Aunt Lally, who said,
'Well, I declare, Kirstie! Keeping them out till all hours and me out of my bed! Arthur ought to be ashamed of himself! Their grandfather went upstairs an hour or more ago, and what he'll say to them in the morning I don't know!'
The fair comes only once a year and the bus before the last one didn't run, and the last was late,' said Aunt Kirstie, who never objected to telling any lies which seemed likely to improve a difficult situation. 'Besides, I kept 'em
