"Hooray!" cried the other boys and girls. "Hooray for the Bantam!" "Bray-vo, little un!" said the show-man. "Here's your twopence," said Tom Barley, "and your brandy-ball. Fight him." "Make a ring," said the show-man, delightedly arranging the children in a circle. "I'll see that it's fair play." Jeremiah and the Bantam were already in the centre, the Bantam with his coat off and his shirt sleeves tucked up. Jeremiah, looking down upon him, inwardly congratulated himself. "Come on," he said, "and be made a jelly of!" Nothing daunted, the Bantam squared up, and the battle commenced. It looked "any odds on the long un," the show-man declared, as he inwardly determined to protect the little fellow from too severe a punishment. But a wonder was in store. Despite his size, Jeremiah found it impossible to reach the Bantam, who skipped about in the liveliest fashion, springing up and planting one on Jeremiah's nose, and another on his right eye, and another on his mouth, which puffed up his lips and set all his teeth chattering. In a short time he did not know exactly where he was, and he hit out more wildly. The audience cheered the little champion, and encouraged him by crying, "Go it, Bantam! Go it! Give him another on the nose!" and every now and then "Time!" was called by the show-man, who declared that the Bantam was "a chap after his own heart." At length, Jeremiah Pamflett, completely bewildered, stepping back, tripped and fell flat. "Any more?" cried the Bantam. Jeremiah remained on the ground, and did not attempt to rise. The show-man threw up his hat. "We gives in," he said. "Three cheers for the Bantam!" They were given with a will; and then a collection was made, and the champion was presented with fourpence half-penny, and, wiping his glory-covered brows, stalked off to the sweet-stuff shop, accompanied by his admirers. Tom and Phoebe took their departure, and the show-men shouldered their Punch and Judy, and walked away with Toby. Jeremiah picked himself up, and crawled to the railway station, shorn of his pride. CHAPTER VII. MISER FAREBROTHER ENVIES FAUST.