'It's the millers!' shouted Harley. 'If I was in Parliament'— 'It's the rates!' exclaimed Cutman; 'and a law should be made, and shall be when I'm in Parliament'— 'You're every one out!' roared Silas Gotobed; 'it's Providence, as don't do what it should be made to do, and force the rivers to run uphill.' 'Sit down! you're drunk,' cried Cutman. 'I'm not going to be ordered about by you,' retorted the ganger; 'we're all equal here. I haven't been bankrupt and sold my stacks twice over.' Cutman fell into the rear. He had been guilty of fraudulent conduct at his bankruptcy. 'I say it is the Univarsity, and I maintains my argiment,' said Goat. 'I'll prove it on your chaps.' 'I sez it is the rivers ought to run uphill. I'll box your donkey ears if you denies it. That's my argiment.' Gotobed made a lunge at this opponent and missed him. Flap-chaps is a pastime affected in the Fens, more so in former times than at present, but not out of favour now. It consists in this. Two men face each other and endeavour to slap each other's cheeks, right or left, as best they can, and as best they can to ward off with the same open palm the blows aimed at their own chaps. Those who play this game acquire great dexterity at it, but when much ale or spirits has been drunk, then the eye has lost its quickness of perception, the hand its steadiness, the brain its coolness, and the contest rapidly degenerates into a drunken brawl and a roll on the floor, with fisticuffs and head-bumping. It promised to so degenerate on the present occasion. Gotobed was the most intoxicated and least able to parry the blows levelled at him, and every time Goat's hand made his cheek sting, it roused him to a further access of fury that blinded him to what he was about; he withdrew his left hand from behind his back. This provoked an outcry from the lookers-on of, 'Not fair play! Hand back! hand back!' Beamish again endeavoured to interpose, but came off with both his ears tingling; he had received a blow on one cheek from Goat, and on the other from Gotobed. The strife recommenced after this futile attempt to separate the men. Slap, slap, on the chaps of Gotobed, followed by a blow from his fist in the face of his adversary. This occasioned a yell from all in the room of 'Cheat—not fair! a fine! a fine, Silas! Fair game or none at all.' 'I'll pay a fine indeed!' roared Gotobed. Then, springing at his opponent, who staggered stupefied under the blow he had received, he snatched his hat from his head, and, thrusting it into the fire, shouted, 'Caps! Caps!' Then he dashed at Cutman, who wore a white beaver. 'Your hat!' he demanded. 'You shall not have it. It is as good as new.' 'I will have it,' answered Gotobed. 'Ain't we all equal? Isn't it the rule? What are you better than me? One cap—all caps. That's the rule.' He tore the white beaver out of the yeoman's hands, and rammed it with his ironshod boot into the glowing turf fire. 'Mates! Mates! Show up your caps!'