Galloping Dick
“Mr Baverstock,” says he, with a bow, and bringing his hat to his knees, “I regret that you must consider yourself my prisoner.”
The chamber sounded with the clank of spurs, and the doorway filled with dragoons; but my man was as game as a bantam, or rather as a bubbly-jock, for he was now the colour of his hair all over.
“Prisoner be damned,” he cried with a sneer, and ran upon the other without more ado.
But the Captain, for so I understood him, took a step back and made play with his point. He stood as cool as a fencing-master, and was more than the match of my squinting friend, who, for all that he made a smart show, being far gone in passion, soon concluded the affair on his own account. Presently I saw the soldier’s rapier bend and glimmer; there was a jerk and a twitch, and Master Red-Head’s toasting-fork was flying in the air above my head. In a second the privates moved up, and had their prisoner in hand. The thing fell with such dispatch that I could not but admire the ease of its process, but ’twas as much the spunk of the
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