face with all his force, the blow making a
smart crack which brought all the others running from within. Still, I
reflected, that this was not the act of Harry Singleton, but only that
of a drunken man who to-morrow would not remember what had been done.

"That will be quite enough, Harry," said I. "Come, now, I'll take you
home. Sanderson, go get his horse or wagon, or whatever brought him
here."

"Not home!" cried Harry. "First inflict punishment on you for denyin'
Miss Gracie Sheraton pretties' girl whole C'fedrate States America.
Girls like John Cowles too much! Must mash John Cowles! Must mash John
Cowles sake of Gracie Sheraton, pretties' girl in whole wide worl'!"

He came toward me as best he might, his hands clenched. I caught him by
the wrist, and as he stumbled past, I turned and had his arm over my
shoulder. I admit I threw him rather cruelly hard, for I thought he
needed it. He was entirely quiet when we carried him into the room and
placed him on the leather lounge.

"By Jove!" I heard a voice at my elbow. "That was handsomely
done--handsomely done all around."

I turned to meet the outstretched hand of my new friend, Gordon Orme.

"Where did you learn the trick?" he asked.

"The trick of being a gentleman," I answered him slowly, my face red
with anger at Singleton's foolishness, "I never learned at all. But to
toss a poor drunken fool like that over one's head any boy might learn
at school."

"No," said my quasi-minister of the gospel, emphatically, "I differ with
you. Your time was perfect. You made him do the work, not yourself. Tell
me, are you a skilled wrestler?"

I was nettled now at all these things which were coming to puzzle and
perturb an honest fellow out for a morning ride.

"Yes," I answered him, "since you are anxious to know, I'll say I can
throw any man in Fairfax except one."

"And he?"

"My father. He's sixty, as I told you, but he can always beat me."

"There are two in Fairfax you cannot throw," said Orme, smiling.

My blood was up just enough to resent this challenge. There came to me
what old Dr. Hallowell at Alexandria calls the "_gaudium certaminis_."
In a moment I was little more than a full-blooded fighting animal, and
had forgotten all the influences of my Quaker home.

"Sir," I said to him hotly, "I propose taking you home with me. But
before I do that, and since you seem to wish it, I am going to lay you
on your back here in the road. Frankly, there are som