don't own no such a thing," says Mr. Will, with rather a forced
laugh.

"No, sir: because it costs you no more pains to lie than to cheat," said
Mr. Warrington, walking up to his cousin. "Hands off, Mr. Chaplain, and
see fair play! Because you are no better than a--ha!----"

No better than a what we can't say, and shall never know, for as Harry
uttered the exclamation, his dear cousin flung a wine bottle at Mr.
Warrington's head, who bobbed just in time, so that the missile flew
across the room, and broke against the wainscot opposite, breaking
the face of a pictured ancestor of the Esmond family, and then itself
against the wall, whence it spirted a pint of good port wine over the
chaplain's face and flowered wig. "Great heavens, gentlemen, I pray you
to be quiet!" cried the parson, dripping with gore.

But gentlemen are not inclined at some moments to remember the commands
of the Church. The bottle having failed, Mr. Esmond seized the large
silver-handled knife and drove at his cousin. But Harry caught up
the other's right hand with his left, as he had seen the boxers do at
Marybone; and delivered a rapid blow upon Mr. Esmond's nose, which sent
him reeling up against the oak panels, and I dare say caused him to see
ten thousand illuminations. He dropped his knife in his retreat against
the wall, which his rapid antagonist kicked under the table.

Now Will, too, had been at Marybone and Hockley-in-the-Hole, and after
a gasp for breath and a glare over his bleeding nose at his enemy, he
dashed forward his head as though it had been a battering-ram, intending
to project it into Mr. Henry Warrington's stomach.

This manoeuvre Harry had seen, too, on his visit to Marybone, and
amongst the negroes upon the maternal estate, who would meet in combat
like two concutient cannon-balls, each harder than the other. But Harry
had seen and marked the civilised practice of the white man. He skipped
aside, and, saluting his advancing enemy with a tremendous blow on the
right ear, felled him, so that he struck his head against the heavy oak
table and sank lifeless to the ground.

"Chaplain, you will bear witness that it has been a fair fight!" said
Mr. Warrington, still quivering with the excitement of the combat, but
striving with all his might to restrain himself and look cool. And he
drew the key from his pocket and opened the door in the lobby, behind
which three or four servants were gathered. A crash of broken glass, a
cry,