“Knocked them into smithereens; had them both down, one on the other, and sat on the top for half an hour.”
The doctor caught Vane’s right hand in his left, held it out, and brought his own right down upon it with a sounding spank, gripped it, and shook the bruised member till Vane grinned with pain.
“Oh, my dear!” remonstrated Aunt Hannah, “you are hurting him, and you are encouraging him in a practice that—”
“Makes perfect,” cried the doctor, excitedly. “By George! I wish I had been there!”
“My dear!”
“I do, Hannah. It makes me feel quite young again. But come and have your tea, you young dog—you young Roman—you Trojan, you—well done, Alexander. But stop!—those two young scoundrels. Hi! where’s Bruff?”
“Stop, uncle,” cried Vane, leaping up and seizing the doctor’s coat-tails. “What are you going to do?”
“Send Bruff for Bates, and set him on the young scoundrels’ track. I shan’t rest till I get them in jail.”
“No, no, uncle, sit down,” said Vane, with a quiver in his voice. “We can’t do that.”
Then he told them all.