"Then how long are we to go on?"

"How long?" repeated John, frowning; "why--that depends on you,
Barnabas."

"How on me, father?"

"Are ye still minded to go to London?"

"Of course."

"Then we'll go on till you think better of it--or till you knock me
down, Barnabas my lad."

"Why then, father, the sooner I knock you down the better!"

"What?" exclaimed John Barty, staring, "d' ye mean to say--you think
you can?--me?--you?"

"Yes," nodded Barnabas.

"My poor lad!" sighed his father, "your head's fair crazed, sure as
sure, but if you think you can knock John Barty off his pins, do it,
and there y' are."

"I will," said Barnabas, "though as gently as possible."

And now they fell to it in silence, a grim silence broken only by
the quick tread and shuffle of feet and the muffled thud of blows.
John Barty, resolute of jaw, indomitable and calm of eye, as in the