“You are an impertinent fellow,” said Mr. Dyson, seizing him by the collar, and dragging him forcibly from the alcove, “and deserve a thrashing.”
Peace slipped deftly from the grasp of his assailant, and retiring back for some little distance, he bent down his head, and rushed forward, making a full butt at him.
The attack was so sudden and unexpected, that Mr. Dyson fell to the ground with considerable force, and was for the space of a few minutes utterly powerless and prostrated.
One of the waiters of the establishment came to his assistance, helped him up, and there was a general expression of surprise and disgust at the cowardly action. A search was made for Peace, who had however, deemed it prudent to beat a retreat.
He was nowhere to be found.
“The contemptible, despicable little wretch!” exclaimed Mr. Dyson. “The spiteful, malicious scoundrel!”
“He is the torment of our lives, dear,” returned Mrs. Dyson. “Oh, I do wish we could find means of being rid of the ruffian.”
“I’ll get a summons against him, and punish him, as he deserves to be punished.”
“That’s the best plan, sir,” observed the landlord. “There are plenty of witnesses who can speak to the assault.”
“The man is our evil genius, I do believe,” said Mr. Dyson. “I have thought so for some time. He has been the bane of our existence, and has caused us more anxiety and trouble than I can at the present moment describe. He’s a most venomous creature.”