scathingly.

"You forget. I told you all fights on my ship are pulled off under my
rules. I always fight with two-ounce gloves."

"All righd. Suit yourself." All Hands And Feet felt he could afford
to give the enemy a trifle the better of the argument without the
slightest prejudice to his own chances for success.

Accordingly, Mr. Murphy skillfully bandaged Matt Peasley's hands, drew
on the gloves and gently shoved his young champion toward the center
of the deck. "Let 'er go!" he announced.

"Come Swede! Present your credentials!" Matt taunted. His long left
flashed out and cuffed All Hands And Feet on the nose.

It was a mere love-tap! All Hands And Feet grinned pityingly, and
with his left arm guarding his face, rushed.

"Lower deck!" Mr. Murphy warned, and laughed as Matt planted left and
right in the midriff and danced away from the Swede's swinging right.
All Hands And Feet grunted--a most unwarriorlike grunt--and dropped
both hands--whereupon a fog suddenly descended upon his vision.
Faintly he made out a blur that was Matt Peasley; bellowing wrathfully
he rushed. Matt gave ground and the Swede's vision cleared and he
paused to consider the situation.

"No rest for the wicked," Mr. Murphy declared. "At him, boy, at him!"

All Hands And Feet realized he faced a desperate situation, and as