you will make a first-class DEAD BEAT. When a man insults me, sir, I lay
him out, without depending in the smallest degree upon an undertaker,
but as for standing up in front of a man who mashes noses by contract,
and chaws off ears as a matter of genteel business, why it ain't my
cut."

JEFFRY MAULBOY took another chew of tobacco.

"You can go on," he said. "I won't hurt you. You're too small potatoes
for me."

While this gentle raillery was in progress, BELINDA felt somebody
tugging at her dress. She looked down, and saw Mr. ARCHIBALD BLINKSOP, a
sailor-looking chap who smelt of tar, and well he might, for he had
ploughed the tempestuous deep for upwards of six months, as a common
sailor on the Erie Canal.

"Shiver my starboard binnacle amidships," said he, "why don't you choose
_me?"_

She squeezed his hand and winked at him.

"I _will_ choose you, dear," said she. "Don't blush so."

The game has commenced.

JEFFRY MAULBOY, standing aloof, is just taking a fresh chew, when a hand
is laid on his shoulder.

The hand is that of ANN BRUMMET, the poor relation, and the voice that