“You’d better jump up and do as I tell you, or it will be the worse for you.”
“You’d better leave me alone before you get my temper up.”
“Temper, bumpkin? Yes, you’d better show your teeth. Take that, and that, and that.”
Tom did take them—heavy blows delivered with the soft gloves, but all falling hard enough to inflict a good deal of pain, and make the boy draw his breath hard.
“That’s your sort,” continued Sam, who danced about by the side of the bed, skilfully delivering his blows upon his defenceless cousin, and revelling in the pleasure he found in inflicting pain. “That’ll knock some sense into your thick head, and so will that, and that, and that, and—Oh!”
Sam had gone too far, for after trying all he could to avoid the blows, Tom suddenly gathered himself together and shot out of bed full at his cousin’s breast, sending him down heavily in a sitting position first and then backwards, so that his head struck heavily against the iron leg of his own bedstead.
Then, thoroughly up now, Tom flung himself upon his cousin, tore off his gloves, and stuffed them under his bed-clothes, and was looking for the others, when he was sent down in turn by Sam.
“You savage beast!” cried the latter. “I’ll teach you to do that;” and flinging himself on Tom’s chest, he nipped him with his knees, and began to belabour him with his fists.
Then a fierce struggle began. Sam was jerked off, and for a few moments there was an angry up-and-down wrestle, ending in Sam becoming the undermost, with Tom occupying his position in turn, and holding his cousin down just as the bedroom door was opened, and Mr James Brandon entered in his dressing-gown, and holding up a candle above his head.
“What is the meaning of all this?” he cried angrily, as Tom sprang up and darted into bed.