'How do ye like the taste o' that?' roared Dickon, from his post of observation.
In an instant Captain Oakley was on his feet again, hatless, looking quite frantic, and striking out at Dudley, who was ducking and dipping quite coolly, and again the same horrid sound, only this time it was double, like a quick postman's knock, and Captain Oakley was on the grass again.
'Tapped his smeller, by—!' thundered Dickon, with a roar of laughter.
'Come away, Milly—I'm growing ill,' said I.
'Drop it, Dudley, I tell ye; you'll kill him,' screamed Milly.
But the devoted Captain, whose nose, and mouth, and shirt-front formed now but one great patch of blood, and who was bleeding beside over one eye, dashed at him again.
I turned away. I felt quite faint, and on the point of crying, with mere horror.
'Hammer away at his knocker,' bellowed Dickon, in a frenzy of delight.
'He'll break it now, if it ain't already,' cried Milly, alluding, as I afterwards understood, to the Captain's Grecian nose.
'Brayvo, little un!' The Captain was considerably the taller.