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There was a long, painful interval between courses, and then Ellen marched in from the kitchen, majestically attired for the street. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Hamshaw, but this time I go for fair. It's aither me or the Chinee-" "Blawst yer eyes!" snarled Sago in his very best English, mightily incensed. "But, Ellen " began Mr. Hamshaw, bowled over.
Where the dooce is our American friend? Down, Bowser! Down! Blawst the dog! Ho! ho! Look there, Tompkins! I say! Here's a go!" There was a tramping of feet, a knocking about of loose things in the room, and a chorus of familiar voices in the adjoining passage. It is needless to say that the party of sporting Englishmen had arrived from Reykjavik. "Oh-h-a!
"I went arter 'im, dodged rahnd the fust corner, an', bli-me, 'e gev me a punch that would 'ave 'arted Corbett." "What with his fist?" inquired Brett. "Nah, guv'nor 'is 'eel, blawst 'im. I could 'ave dodged a square blow. I can use my dukes a bit myself." "What was the value of the punch?" The youth tried to smile, though the effort tortured him. "It was worth 'arf a thick 'un at least, guv'nor."
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