"No, I won't."
"Then you're a blackguard, if you are a rich man's son."
The blood rushed to Godfrey's face on the instant. This was a palpable insult. What! he, a rich man's son, the only son and heir of Colonel Anthony Preston, with his broad acres and ample bank account—he to be called a blackguard by a low Irish boy. His passion got the better of him, and he ran through the gate, his eyes flashing fire, bent on exterminating his impudent adversary.
CHAPTER II — A SKIRMISH
Andy Burke was not the boy to run away from an opponent of his own size and age. Neither did he propose to submit quietly to the thrashing which Godfrey designed to give him. He dropped his stick and bundle, and squared off scientifically at his aristocratic foe.
Godfrey paused an instant before him.
"I'm going to give you a thrashing," he said; "the worst thrashing you ever had."
"Are you, now?" asked Andy, undismayed. "Come on, thin; I'm ready for you."