“Who are you staring at?” demanded Master Nugent, at last.
“You,” replied the other; “who are you staring at?”
“You,” said Master Nugent, defiantly.
There was a long interval, both gentlemen experiencing some difficulty in working up sufficient heat for the engagement.
“You hit me and see what you'll get,” said Master Hardy, at length.
“You hit me,” said the other.
“Cowardy, cowardy custard,” chanted the well-bred Miss Nugent, “ate his mother's mustard. Cowardy, cowardy cus—”