Part 23 (1/2)

”Oh, golly,” he said aloud; ”just wait till Toady Lion grows up a bit.

By hokey, won't I take this out of him with a wicket? Oh no--not at all!”

Now Toady Lion was not usually a selfish little boy; but this day it happened that he was cross and hot, also he had a tooth which was bothering him. And most of all he wanted his own way, and had a very good idea how to get it too.

That same night, when Hugh John was wandering disconsolately without at the hour of supper, wondering whether Janet Sheepshanks meant to keep her word, a small stout figure came waddling towards him. It was Toady Lion with the cover of a silver-plated fish-server in his hand.

It was nearly full of a miscellaneous mess, such as children (and all hungry persons) love--half a fried sole was there, three large mealy potatoes, green peas, and a whole boiled turnip.

”Please, Hugh John,” said Toady Lion, ”I'se welly solly I broked your cannon. I bringed you mine supper. Will 'oo forgive me?”

”All right, old chap,” said the generous hero of battles instantly, ”that's all right! Let's have a jolly feed!”

So on the garden seat they sat down with the fish-cover propped between them, and ate their suppers fraternally and happily out of one dish, using the oldest implements invented for the purpose by the human race.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

SAINT PRISSY, PEACEMAKER.

This is the letter which, according to his promise, General Napoleon Smith despatched to the accredited leader of the Smoutchy boys--or, as they delighted to call themselves, the Comanche Cowboys.

WINDY STANDARD HOUSE, BORDERs.h.i.+RE.

_Mistr. Nippr. Donnan, Esqr.,_

_DEAR SIR,--This is to warn you that on Sat.u.r.day the 18th, between the hours of ten in the morning and six in the evening, we, the rightful owners of the Castle of Windy Standard, will take possession of our proppaty. Prevent us at your peril. You had better get out, for we're coming, and our motty is 'Smith for ever, and No Quarter!'_

_Given under our hand and seal._

(_Signed_) _NAPOLEON SMITH_,

_General-Feeld-Marshall-Commanding._

_P.S.--I'll teach you to kick my legs with tacketty butes and put me in nasty dunguns. Wait till I catch you, Nipper Donnan._

The reply came back on a piece of wrapping paper from the butcher's shop, rendered warlike by undeniable stains of gore. It had, to all appearance, been written with a skewer, and contrasted ill with the blue official paper purloined out of Mr. Picton Smith's office, on which the challenge had been sent. It ran thus:----

_Matthew Donnan & Co., Butchers and Cattle Salesmen, 21 High Street, Edam, Borders.h.i.+re._

_DEAR SIR.--Yours of the 13th received, and contents noted.

Come on, you stuck-up retches. We can fight you any day with our one hand tied behind us. Better leave girls and childer at home, for we meen fightin' this time--and no error.--We'll nock you into eternal smash._

_Hoping to be favoured with a continuance of your esteemed orders,--I have the honour to remain, Sir, your obedient servant to command,_

_N. DONNAN._

The high contracting parties having thus agreed upon terms of mutual animosity, to all appearance there remained only the arbitrament of battle.

But other thoughts were working in the tender heart of Prissy Smith.