"Oh, yes," nodded the Imp; "it's all right!" Listen to this!" and
he read as follows in a stern, deep voice:
"'Then Robin tossed aside his trusty blade, an' laying bare his
knotted arm, approached the dastardly ruffian with many a merry quip
and jest, prepared for the fierce death-grip.'"
Hereupon the Imp laid aside his book and weapons and proceeded to
roll up his sleeve, having done which to his satisfaction, he faced
round upon the Base Varlet.
"Have at ye, dastardly ruffian!" he cried, and therewith ensued a
battle, fierce and fell.
If his antagonist had it in height, the Imp made up for it in weight
- he is a particularly solid Imp - and thus the struggle lasted for
some five minutes without any appreciable advantage to either, when,
in eluding one of the enemy's desperate rushes, the Imp stumbled,
lost his balance, and next moment I had caught him in my arms. For
a space "the enemy" remained panting on the bank above, and then
with another yell turned and darted off among the bushes.
"Hallo, Imp!" I said.
"Hallo, Uncle Dick!" he returned.
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