bundle, and squared off scientifically at his aristocratic foe.

Godfrey paused an instant before him.

"I'm going to give you a thrashing," he said; "the worst thrashing you
ever had."

"Are you, now?" asked Andy, undismayed. "Come on, thin; I'm ready for
you."

"You're an impudent young ruffian."

"So are you."

Godfrey's aristocratic blood boiled at this retort, and he struck out
at Andy, but the latter knew what was coming, and, swift as a flash,
warded it off, and fetched Godfrey a blow full upon his nose, which
started the blood. Now, the pain and the sight of the blood combined
filled him with added fury, and he attempted to seize Andy around the
waist and throw him. But here again he was foiled. The young Irish boy
evaded his grasp, and, seizing him in turn, by an adroit movement of
the foot, tripped him up. Godfrey fell heavily on his back.

Andy withdrew a little, and did not offer to hold him down, as Godfrey
would have been sure to do under similar circumstances. "Have you got
enough?" he asked.

"That wasn't fair," exclaimed Godfrey, jumping up hastily, deeply
mortified because he had been worsted in the presence of John, who,
sooth to say, rather enjoyed his young master's overthrow.