tle knew his man. He did not know that the little Englishman was a
man of iron frame; he only regarded him as a fiery little gentleman.
Still less did he know that Mr Sudberry had in his youth been an expert
boxer, and that he had even had the honour of being knocked flat on his
back more than once by _professional_ gentlemen--in an amicable way, of
course--at four and sixpence a lesson. He knew nothing of all this, so
he rushed blindly on his fate, and met it--that is to say, he met Mr
Sudberry's left fist with the bridge of his nose, and his right with the
pit of his stomach; the surprising result of which was that the gypsy
staggered back against the wall.
But the man was not a coward, whatever other bad qualities he might have
been possessed of. Recovering in a moment, he rushed upon his little
antagonist, and sent in two sledge-hammer blows with such violence that
nothing but the Englishman's activity could have saved him from instant
defeat. He ducked to the first, parried the second, and returned with
such prompt good-will on the gypsy's right eye, that he was again sent
staggering back against the wall; from which point of observation he
stared straight before him, and beheld Mr Sudberry in the wildness of
his excitement, performing a species of Cherokee war-dance in the middle
of the road. Nothing daunted, however, the man was about to renew his
assault, when George and Fred, all ignorant of what was going on, came
round a turn of the road, on their way to see what was detaining their
father with the letters.
"Why, that's father!" cried Fred.
"Fighting!" yelled George.
They were off at full speed in a moment. The gypsy gave but one glance,
vaulted the wall, and dived into the underwood that lined the banks of
the river. He followed the stream a few hundred yards, doubled at right
angles on his course, and in ten minutes more was seen crossing over a
shoulder of the hill, like a mountain hare.
STORY ONE, CHAPTER 15.
A DREAM AND A BALL.
That evening Mr Sudberry, having spent the day in a somewhat excited
state--having swept everything around him, wherever he moved, with his
coat-tails, as with the besom of destruction--having despatched a note
to the nearest constabulary station, and having examined the bolts and
fastenings of the windows of the White House--sat down after supper to
read the newspaper, and fell fast asleep, with his head hanging over the
back of his chair, his nose turne
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