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Updated: May 15, 2025
"Now, old boy, don't you open your mouth to say a word, or try to help yourself a bit we'll do all that; you keep all your breath and strength for the Slogger."
Going down on his knee the young burglar held out a third morsel of temptation in his hand. Dumps meekly advanced and took the meat. It was a sad illustration of the ease with which even a dog descends from bad to worse. While he was engaged with it the Slogger gently patted his head. Suddenly Dumps found his muzzle grasped and held tight in a powerful hand.
Burke the Slogger uttered a fiendish laugh. But the next moment the train leaped across the chasm, striking the rails exactly even, and, dashing out the life of Burke the Slogger, sped away to Sloperton.
Whether he saw much there I cannot tell, but after wandering for some time in that unknown region, his eyes returned to surrounding things, and, among other objects, alighted on the 'bus conductor, whose head was within a few inches of his toe. It was the head of the Slogger!
It was well oiled too, and went round in the wards of the lock without giving a chirp, so that the bolt flew back with one solitary shot. The report, however, was loud. It caused Dumps to return from Dogland and raise his head with a decided growl. Nobody heard the growl except the Slogger, who stood perfectly still for nearly a minute, with his hand on the door-handle.
For the rest, he punched the swinging ball and worked with the dumb-bells for an hour every morning and evening, and boxed twice a day with Ted Barton in the gymnasium, gaining as much profit as could be got from a rushing, two-handed slogger. Barton was full of admiration for his cleverness and quickness, but doubtful about his strength.
He'll lose his wind then in no time, and you can go into him. Hit at his body too; we'll take care of his frontispiece by-and-by." Tom felt the wisdom of the counsel, and saw already that he couldn't go in and finish the Slogger off at mere hammer and tongs, so changed his tactics completely in the third round.
Not a year before he had come over the Globe trail in pursuit of Slogger Meacham, and had discovered the Place of Death. It rose before him now, a solid black wall, and within its shadow lay the mine of the prophecy, the precious Silver Treasure. He had chosen the silver treasure, and the yellow chalcopyrites had added its wealth of copper.
The mud and muck from the hole splashed up into his face and painted his body a dull gray, but at thirteen minutes they had lost their lead and Tom Owen was striking wild. Then he missed the steel and a great voice rose up in mocking, stentorian laughter. "Ho! Ho!" it roared, and Denver knew it well it was Slogger Meacham, exulting.
"Hullo, Sep! We used to think you a slogger, but you never came anywhere near that smite of Scaife's." "I thought his smite was coming too near me," says the Rev. Sep, with a shrewd glance at the pavilion. "Lamper, old chap, I am glad to see your 'phiz' again." And so they stroll off together, mighty prelate and humble country parson, once again happy Harrow boys.
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