Reginald, whose agility was greater than his courage, danced about on
the tips of his toes, and succeeded in planting a tap or two on
Compton's cheek.
Compton smarted under these, and presently, in following his
antagonist, who fought like a shadow, he saw Ruperta and her mother
looking horror-stricken over the palings.
Infuriated with Reginald for this exposure, he rushed in at him,
received a severe cut over the eye, but dealt him with his mighty
Anglo-Saxon arm a full straightforward smasher on the forehead, which
knocked him head over heels like a nine-pin.
That active young man picked himself up wondrous slowly; rheumatism
seemed to have suddenly seized his well-oiled joints; he then addressed
his antagonist, in his most ingratiating tones--"All right, sir," said
he. "You are the best man. I'll go to the old lady this minute."
"I'll see you go," said Compton, sternly; "and mind I can run as well
as hit: so none of your gypsy tricks with me."
Then he came sheepishly to the palings and said, "It is not my fault,
Miss Bassett; he would not come to mamma without, and she wants to
speak to him."
"Oh! he is hurt! he is wounded!" cried Ruperta. "Come here to me."
He came to her, and she pressed her white handkerchief tenderly on his
eyebrow; it was bleeding a little.
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