s back to the
smiter and assumed a scientific arrangement of the shoulders with
tense muscles and coyly withdrawn bones. He had been there before....

The dozen were indeed of the Sergeant's best and he was a master. The
boy turned not a hair, though he turned a little pale.... His mouth
grew extraordinarily like that of his grandfather and a little
muscular pulse beat beneath his cheek-bone.

"And what do you think of _my_ pleasantries, my young friend?"
inquired Grandfather. "Feeling at all witty _now_?"

"Havlan is failing a bit, Sir," was the cool reply. "I have noticed it
at fencing too--Getting old--or beer perhaps. I scarcely felt him and
so did not see or feel the point of your joke."

"Grandfather's" flush deepened and his smile broadened crookedly. "Try
and do yourself justice, Havlan," he said. "'Nother dozen. 'Tother
way."

Sergeant Havlan changed sides and endeavoured to surpass himself. It
was a remarkably sound dozen.

He mopped his brow.

The bad boy did not move, gave no sign, but retained his rigid,
slightly hunched attitude, as though he had not counted the second
dozen and expected another stroke.

"Let that be a lesson to you to curb your damned tongue," said
"Grandfather," his anger evaporating, his pride in the stiff-necked,
defiant young rogue increasing.

The boy changed not the rigid, slightly hunched attitude.

"Be pleased to wreck no more of my orchid-houses and to exercise your
great wit on your equals and juniors," he added.

Dam budged not an inch and relaxed not a muscle.

"You may go," said "Grandfather".... "Well--what are you waiting for?"

"I was waiting for Sergeant Havlan to _begin_," was the reply. "I
thought I was to have a second dozen."

With blazing eyes, bristling moustache, swollen veins and bared teeth,
"Grandfather" rose from his chair. Resting on one stick he struck and
struck and struck at the boy with the other, passion feeding on its
own passionate acts, and growing to madness--until, as the head
gardener and Sergeant rushed forward to intervene, Dam fell to the
ground, stunned by an unintentional blow on the head.

"Grandfather" stood trembling.... "_Quite_ a Stukeley," observed he.
"Oblige me by flinging his carcase down the stairs."

"'Angry Stookly's mad Stookly' is about right, mate, wot?" observed
the Sergeant to the gardener, quoting an ancient local saying, as they
carried Dam to his room after dispatching a groom for Dr. Jones of
Monksmead.