“Yes,” very quietly replied Colin; “I have seen many _men's_ faces before.” “What do you mean by that, eh?” cried Prince. “What does he mean?” addressing the company. “Come, come, young man, I 'll soon teach you how to know your betters.” And he strode towards Colin, with the apparent intention of practically illustrating the system he maintained. The latter instantly rose on his feet to meet him. All eyes were now turned towards these two, while the squabble with Hobson appeared for the time to be wholly forgotten. “Beg my pardon, sir!” bellowed Prince. “I shall beg no man's pardon whom I have neither injured nor insulted,” coolly answered Colin. “I say, beg my pardon, sir!” repeated Prince. “Do you mean to take the law of me if I strike you? Say no, and I 'll knock you down.” “No!” replied Colin, “I shall appeal to no law except that of my own force. If you strike me, I shall probably strike you again, old as you are.” Smash went Mr. Prince's fist at Colin's face; but the latter parried the blow adroitly, and by a cool “counter” succeeded in pressing Mr. Prince's nose very much closer to his face than nature herself had intended it to be. Cries of “Shame!” again arose against Colin, and some attempts were made to seize and turn him out. These, however, were prevented by other portions of the company, who exclaimed loudly in favour of fair play, and against any interference. In the mean time Mr. Prince grew furious, and raised his stick to strike Colin with the determination of a butcher about to knock a bull on the head. The youth again parried the intended blow, and turned the weapon aside by receiving it in a slanting direction on his right arm. In order to close with him on the opposite side, Prince now jumped on the table; but this manouvre the young man avoided, and at the same instant a shower of broken glass fell upon him. Colin's enraged assailant's stick had gone through the lid of the “city cucumber-frame,” and some half dozen fractured squares attested his powers of mischief. A loud laugh echoed from every part of the room, which put Mr. Prince in a perfect whirlwind of passion. He plunged at his young opponent as though he meditated crushing him by the mere weight of his body; but as the coolness of the latter enabled him to take advantage of the slightest circumstance in his favour, he slipped aside at the critical moment, and his antagonist's head went with the power of a paviour's rammer against the wall. This terminated the fight. Mr. Prince lay on the floor, and groaned with pain and vexation, until he was picked up, and placed, almost as inanimate as a sack of potatoes, in his chair.