"You'll take the counts if I put up my Dukes," said Jo, who was an inveterate punnist.
"Shut up," yelled Jim, giving his brother a hearty chug in the chest. Then they went at it hammer and tongs, giving and receiving good hard blows, and after ten minutes of whaling at each other, both were plenty warm. The Spaniard looked on in mild wonder.
"You Americans love the hard exercise," he said. "I should think you would have great pleasure in resting awhile."
"I got the best of the bout," declared Jo. "See how black and blue your face is on this side."
"You didn't do that," protested Jim. "That was a wallop that old Neptune handed me when he bumped my head against yonder cliff."
"Neptune! Yonder cliff!" jeered Jo. "You ought to be a story writer and use fine words."
"Me a story writer!" growled Jim. "I ain't got so low as that, not so long as I have got two hands to steal chickens with."