soul upon earth!"

The old man's fiery forked tongue darted so keen and true to some sore
in his adversary's heart that he in turn lost his habitual
self-command.

White and black with passion he wheeled round on Isaac with a fierce
snarl, and lifting his stick discharged a furious blow at his head.

Fortunately for Isaac wood encountered leather instead of gray hairs.

Attracted by the raised voices, and unseen in their frenzy by either
of these antagonists, young George Fielding had drawn near them. He
had, luckily, a stout pig-whip in his hand, and by an adroit turn of
his muscular wrist he parried a blow that would have stopped the old
Jew's eloquence perhaps forever. As it was, the corn-factor's stick
cut like a razor through the air, and made a most musical whirr within
a foot of the Jew's ear. The basilisk look of venom and vengeance he
instantly shot back amounted to a stab.

"Not if I know it," said George. And he stood cool and erect with a
calm manly air of defiance between the two belligerents. While the
stick and the whip still remained in contact, Meadows glared at
Isaac's champion with surprise and wrath, and a sort of half fear half
wonder that this of all men in the world should be the one to cross
weapons with and thwart him. "You are joking, Master Meadows," said
George coolly. "Why the man is twice your age, and nothing in his hand
but his fist. Who are ye, old man, and what d'ye want? It's you for
cursing, anyway."