s red coat, as if
he was one of the lords of the hearth, well--it makes my nose bleed,
ah--it _does_!

_The Chatty Man_. If that's the way you talk to him, I ain't surprised
if it do.

_The Judge_. Sword _versus_ Sword! Come in, there! (_Two mounted
Combatants, in leather jerkins and black visors, armed with
sword-sticks, enter the ring; Judge introduces them to audience with
the aid of a flag_.) Corporal JONES, of the Wessex Yeomanry; Sergeant
SMITH, of the Manx Mounted Infantry. (_Their swords are chalked by the
Assistants_.) Are you ready? Left turn! Countermarch! Engage! (_The
Combatants wheel round and face one another, each vigorously spurring
his horse and prodding cautiously at the other; the two horses seem
determined not to be drawn into the affair themselves on any account,
and take no personal interest in the conflict; the umpires skip and
dodge at the rear of the horses, until one of the Combatants gets in
with a rattling blow on the other's head, to the intense delight of
audience. Both men are brushed down, and their weapons re-chalked,
whereupon they engage once more_--_much to the disgust of their
horses, who had evidently been hoping it was all over. After the
contest is finally decided, a second pair of Combatants enter; one is
mounted on a black horse, the other on a chestnut, who refuses to lend
himself to the business on any terms, and bolts on principle; while
the rider of the black horse remains in stationary meditation_.) Go
on--that black horse--go on! (_The chestnut is at length brought up
to the scratch snorting, but again flinches, and retires with his
rider_.)

_The Crowd_ (_to rider of black horse_). Go on, now's your chance!
'It him! (_The recipient of these counsels pursues his antagonist, and
belabours him and his horse with impartial good-will until separated
by the Umpires, who examine the chalk-marks with a professional
scrutiny._)

_The Judge_. Here, you on the black horse, you mustn't hit that
other horse about the head. (_The man addressed appears rebuked and
surprised under his black-wired visor; The Judge, reassuringly_.)
It's all _right_, you know; only, don't do it again, that's all! (_The
Combatant sits up again._)

_The Gushing Lady_. Oh, I can't bear to look on, really. I'm _sure_
they oughtn't to hit so hard--_how_ their poor dear heads must ache!
Isn't that chestnut a _duck_? I'm sure he's trying to save his master
from getting hurt--they're such sensible creature