sphere, than the receipt for one-two-three-four cake conduct you to a successful issue through plum pudding—”
I excel in metaphysical discussions, and was about giving further elaboration of my favorite idea when the door burst open. Master Billy came tumbling in with a torn jacket, a bloody nose, the trace of a few tears in his eyes, and the mangiest of cur dogs in his hands.
“Oh my! my!! my!!!” exclaimed his mother.
“Don't you get scared, ma!” cried Billy, smiling a stern smile of triumph; I smashed the nose off him! He won't sass me again for nothing this while! Uncle Teddy, d’ye know it wasn’t a dog-fight after all? There was that nasty good-for-nothing Joe Casey ’n’ Patsy Grogan and a lot of bad boys from Mackerelville; and they’d caught this poor little ki-oodle and tied a tin pot to his tail and were trying to set Joe's dog on him, though he's ten times littler—”
“You naughty, naughty boy! How did you suppose your mother'd feel to see you playing with those ragamuffins?”
“Yes, I played ’em! I polished ’em—that’s the play I did! Says I, ‘Put down that poor little pup! Ain’t you ashamed of yourself, Patsy Grogan?’ ‘I guess you don’t know who I am,’ says he. That’s the way they always say, Uncle Teddy, to make a fellow think they’re some awful great fighters. So says I again, ‘Well, you put down that dog or I’ll show you
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