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.
Another smack, and, I suppose, Captain Oakley fell once more.
'Hooray! the dinner-service again, by ----,' roared Dickon. 'Stick to that.
Over the same ground--subsoil, I say. He han't enough yet.'
In a perfect tremor of disgust, I was making as quick a retreat as I could,
and as I did, I heard Captain Oakley shriek hoarsely--
'You're a d---- prizefighter; I can't box you.'
'I told ye I'd lick ye to fits,' hooted Dudley.
'But you're the son of a gentleman, and by ---- you shall fight me _as_ a
gentleman.'
A yell of hooting laughter from Dudley and Dickon followed this sally.
'Gi'e my love to the Colonel, and think o' me when ye look in the
glass--won't ye? An' so you're goin' arter all; well, follow what's left o'
yer nose. Ye forgot some o' yer ivories, didn't ye, on th' grass?'
These and many similar jibes followed the mangled Captain in his retreat.
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