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Oncefeet, once ly--once more his fist shot out, but this ti the blow, Barnabas s blows on his father's ribs and danced away again light and

buoyant as a cork

"Stand up an' fight, lad!" growled his father, "plant your feet

square--never go hopping about on your toe-points like a French

dancing-master"

"Why as to that, father, Natty Bell, as you know, holds that it is

the quicker method," here Barnabas smote his father twice upon the

ribs, "and indeed I think it is," said he, deftly eluding the

ex-champion's return

"Quicker, hey?" sneered his father, and with the words came his

fist--to whizz harmlessly past Barnabas's ear--"we'll prove that"

"Haven't we had alh? e aren't begun yet, lad"

"Then how long are we to go on?"

"How long?" repeated John, frowning; "why--that depends on you,

Barnabas"

"How on o to London?"

"Of course"

"Then we'll go on till you think better of it--or till you knock me

down, Barnabas my lad"

"Why then, father, the sooner I knock you down the better!"

"What?" exclai, "d' ye mean to say--you think

you can?--hed his father, "your head's fair crazed, sure as