“We had a round with the gloves, nevertheless,” said Cutbill, “and exchanged some ugly blows. I don't exactly know about what or how it began, or even how it ended; but I know there was a black eye somewhere. He's passionate, rather.” “He has the spirit that should animate every gentleman,” said Temple. “That's exactly what _I_ have. I 'll stand anything, I don't care what, if it be fun. Say it's a 'joke,' and you'll never see me show bad temper; but if any fellow tries it on with me because he fancies himself a swell, or has a handle to his name, he 'll soon discover his mistake. Old Culduff began that way. You 'd laugh if you saw how he floundered out of the swamp afterwards.” “Tell us about it, Cutty,” said Jack, encouragingly. “I beg to say I should prefer not hearing anything which might, even by inference, reflect on a person holding Lord Culduff's position in my profession,” said Temple, haughtily. “Is that the quarter the wind 's in?” asked Cutbill, with a not very sober expression in his face. “Sing us a song, Cutty. It will be better than all this sparring,” said Jack. “What shall it be?” said Cutbill, seating himself at the piano, and running over the keys with no small skill. “Shall I describe my journey to Ireland?” “By all means let's hear it,” said Augustus. “I forget how it goes. Indeed, some verses I was making on the curate's sister have driven the others out of my head.” Jack drew nigh, and leaning over his shoulder, whispered something in his ear. “What!” cried Cutbill, starting up; “he says he'll pitch me neck and crop out of the window.” “Not unless you deserve it--add that,” said Jack, sternly. “I must have an apology for those words, sir. I shall insist on your recalling them, and expressing your sincere regret for having ever used them.” “So you shall, Cutty. I completely forgot that this tower was ninety feet high; but I 'll pitch you downstairs, which will do as well.” There was a terrible gleam of earnestness in Jack's eye as he spoke this laughingly, which appalled Cutbill far more than any bluster, and he stammered out, “Let us have no practical jokes; they're bad taste. You'd be a great fool, admiral”--this was a familiarity he occasionally used with Jack--“you 'd be a great fool to quarrel with _me_. I can do more with the fellows at Somerset House than most men going; and when the day comes that they 'll give you a command, and you 'll want twelve or fifteen hundred to set you afloat, Tom Cutbill is not the worst man to know in the City. Not to say, that if things go right down here, I could help you to something very snug in our mine. Won't we come out strong then, eh?” Here he rattled over the keys once more; and after humming to himself for a second or two, burst out with a rattling merry air, to which he sung,--