“Mister—­I—­don’t—&
shy;think—­it—­just—­right—­for—­a—­young—­man—­to—­call —­an—­old—­one—­such—­bad names.”

Jack Oliver turned on him savagely.

“Well! may be you want to take it up?”

The grin on Hill’s face looked still more verdant, as he answered with gentle deliberation: 

“Well—­mister—­I—­don
’t—­go—­around—­a—­hunting—­things—­but—­I —­ginerally—­take—­care—
­of—­all—­that’s—­sent—­me!”

Jack foamed, but his fiercest bluster could not drive that infantile smile from Hill’s face, nor provoke a change in the calm slowness of his speech.

It was evident that nothing would do but a battle-royal, and Jack had sense enough to see that the imperturbable rustic was likely to give him a job of some difficulty.  He went off and came back with his clan, while Hill’s comrades of the One Hundredth gathered around to insure him fair play.  Jack pulled off his coat and vest, rolled up his sleeves, and made other elaborate preparations for the affray.  Hill, without removing a garment, said, as he surveyed him with a mocking smile: 

“Mister—­you—­seem—­t
o—­be—­one—­of—­them—­partick-e-ler—­fellers.”

Jack roared out,

“By —–­, I’ll make you partickeler before I get through with you.  Now, how shall we settle this?  Regular stand-up-and knock-down, or rough and tumble?”

If anything Hill’s face was more vacantly serene, and his tones blander than ever, as he answered: 

“Strike—­any—­gait—­that—­suits—­you,—­Mister;—­I guess—­I—­will—­be —­able—­to—­keep—­up—­with—­you.”

They closed.  Hill feinted with his left, and as Jack uncovered to guard, he caught him fairly on the lower left ribs, by a blow from his mighty right fist, that sounded—­as one of the by-standers expressed it—­“like striking a hollow log with a maul.”

The color in Jack’s face paled.  He did not seem to understand how he had laid himself open to such a pass, and made the same mistake, receiving again a sounding blow in the short ribs.  This taught him nothing, either, for again he opened his guard in response to a feint, and again caught a blow on his luckless left, ribs, that drove the blood from his face and the breath from his body.  He reeled back among his supporters for an instant to breathe.  Recovering his wind, be dashed at Hill feinted strongly with his right, but delivered a terrible kick against the lower part of the latter’s abdomen.  Both closed and fought savagely at half-arm’s length for an instant; during which Hill struck Jack so fairly in the mouth as to break out three front teeth, which the latter swallowed.  Then they clenched and struggled to throw each other.  Hill’s superior strength and skill crushed his opponent to the ground, and he fell upon him.  As they grappled there, one of Jack’s followers sought to aid his leader by catching Hill by the hair, intending to kick him in the face.  In an instant he was knocked down by a stalwart member of the One Hundredth, and then literally lifted out of the ring by kicks.