Indeed, the curious likeness in build of these two men--a likeness
accentuated, rather than slurred, by their contrast in colour and face,
was now seen to extend even to their feet. When the stranger stood up
at length in Zeb's shoes, they fitted him to a nicety, the broad steel
buckles lying comfortably over the instep, the back of the uppers
closing round the hollow of his ankle like a skin.
Young Zeb, by this, had crossed shoeless to the fireplace, and now stood
in the position lately occupied by his rival: only, whereas the stranger
had lolled easily, Zeb stood squarely, with his legs wide apart and his
hands deep in his pockets. He had no eyes for the intent faces around,
no ears for their whispering, nor for the preliminary scrape of the
instruments; but stood like an image, with the firelight flickering out
between his calves, and watched the other man grimly.
"Ready?" asked his father's voice. "Then one--two--three, an' let fly!"
The fiddle-bows hung for an instant on the first note, and in a
twinkling scampered along into "Randy my dandy." As the quick air
caught at the listeners' pulses, the stranger crossed his arms, drew his
right heel up along the inner side of his left ankle, and with a light
nod towards the chimney-place began.
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