morning!'

Again the timber-merchant seemed to meditate; his eyes wandered from
Charles to the dining-room table.

'Just a minute more,' he resumed; 'I have another idea--not a new one; an
idea that came to me long ago, when your father first began to have trouble
about you. I happened to be in the shop one day--it was when you were
living idle at your father's expense, young man--and I heard you speak to
him in what I call a confoundedly impertinent way. Thinking it over
afterwards, I said to myself: If I had a son who spoke to me like that, I'd
give him the soundest thrashing he'd be ever likely to get. That was my
idea, young man; and as I stood listening to you to-day, it came back into
my mind again. Your father can't thrash you; he hasn't the brawn for it.
But as it's nothing less than a public duty, somebody _must_, and so--'

Charles, who had been watching every movement of the speaker's face,
suddenly sprang forward, making for the door. But Mr. Lott had foreseen
this; with astonishing alertness and vigour he intercepted the fugitive
seized him by the scruff of the neck, and, after a moment's struggle,
pinned him face downwards across the end of the table. His stick he had
thrown aside; the riding-whip he held between his teeth. So brief was this
conflict that there sounded only a scuffling of feet on the floor, and a
growl of fury from Charles as he found himself handled like an infant;
then, during some two minutes, one might have thought that a couple of very
strenuous carpet-beaters were at work in the room. For the space of a dozen
switches Charles strove frantically with wild kicks, which wounded only the
air, but all in silence; gripped only the more tightly, he at length
uttered a yell of pain, followed by curses hot and swift. Still the
carpet-beaters seemed to be at work, and more vigorously than ever. Charles
began to roar. As it happened, there were only servants in the house. When
the clamour had lasted long enough to be really alarming, knocks sounded at
the door, which at length was thrown open, and the startled face of a
domestic appeared. At the same moment Mr. Lott, his right arm being weary,
brought the castigatory exercise to an end. Charles rolled to his feet, and
began to strike out furiously with both fists.

'Just as you like, young man,' said the timber-merchant, as he coolly
warded off the blows, 'if you wish to have it this way too. But, I warn
you, it isn't a fair match. Sally, sh