“Get up, boys,” shouted Bar.
Several were already so doing, but Hy Allen was the last to resume his perpendicular, for his blow and fall had been of an unusually heavy kind.
Never in all his life, however, had Zeb Fuller learned so much in so short a time, and never did he “come to the front” so very ably.
“None of us knew anything about boxing, Dr. Dryer,” he said, very gravely. “If I’d have had such a lesson a few weeks ago, I’d never have had so hard a time with those Rodney fellows that stole your cows. I hope sincerely you won’t think of forbidding it.”
Poor Bill Jones was wiping his bloody nose at the moment, and the Doctor exclaimed:
“Do you not observe that cruel and disgusting spectacle? You, sir; what’s your name?”
“Vernon, sir. Barnaby Vernon,” responded our hero. “I’m very sorry I had no gloves on, sir.”
“Vernon? Ah, indeed. I see now. Mr. Manning, is that you? I am astonished beyond measure! And this is the young gentleman, your father’s ward, concerning whom he sent me a written communication. I will see you both again about this business. In the meantime let us have no more boxing lessons. I felt almost sure you were all fighting.”
“Fighting! Indeed!” exclaimed Zebedee Fuller. “Why, Doctor, do you suppose all Ogleport would assail, with one accord, two innocent and unoffending strangers?”
“Zebedee,” replied the Doctor, “I should be rather inclined to the opinion that the two unoffending strangers had been administering wholesome admonition to a part, at least, of the population of Ogleport.”