Poor Zeb, too, had just such another experience with his own antagonist, and it is greatly to be feared that Val Manning made things about even for that “last term’s licking.” “You’ll all be perfectly safe,” remarked Bar, “if you’ll only lie still when you’re down.” “What’s this? What does all this mean?” suddenly exclaimed an excited voice behind him, and Bar turned to find himself in no less a presence than that of the Rev. Dr. Solomon Dryer. “What does this mean, sir?” again demanded the Doctor, and Zebedee Fuller remarked to himself: “Not a single long word! That looks very bad.” But Bar Vernon calmly and politely touched his hat, saying: “Lessons in boxing, Dr. Dryer. Are they contrary to the rules of the Academy?” “He’s a trump, anyway!” said Zeb to himself. “I couldn’t have beat that.” “Boxing lessons?” said the Doctor, incredulously. “What are those boys doing on the grass?” “Get up, boys,” shouted Bar. Several were already so doing, but Hy Allen was the last to resume his perpendicular, for his blow and fall had been of an unusually heavy kind. Never in all his life, however, had Zeb Fuller learned so much in so short a time, and never did he “come to the front” so very ably. “None of us knew anything about boxing, Dr. Dryer,” he said, very gravely. “If I’d have had such a lesson a few weeks ago, I’d never have had so hard a time with those Rodney fellows that stole your cows. I hope sincerely you won’t think of forbidding it.” Poor Bill Jones was wiping his bloody nose at the moment, and the Doctor exclaimed: “Do you not observe that cruel and disgusting spectacle? You, sir; what’s your name?” “Vernon, sir. Barnaby Vernon,” responded our hero. “I’m very sorry I had no gloves on, sir.” “Vernon? Ah, indeed. I see now. Mr. Manning, is that you? I am astonished beyond measure! And this is the young gentleman, your father’s ward, concerning whom he sent me a written communication. I will see you both again about this business. In the meantime let us have no more boxing lessons. I felt almost sure you were all fighting.” “Fighting! Indeed!” exclaimed Zebedee Fuller. “Why, Doctor, do you suppose all Ogleport would assail, with one accord, two innocent and unoffending strangers?” “Zebedee,” replied the Doctor, “I should be rather inclined to the opinion that the two unoffending strangers had been administering wholesome admonition to a part, at least, of the population of Ogleport.” With that, the Doctor turned upon his heel and strode away, but Zebedee walked up to Bar Vernon and held out his hand, remarking: “Solomon is right, for once. If ever a man like him can acquire wisdom, I should be ashamed of myself to exhibit a lower order of intelligence. I have no longer the least disposition to give you a thrashing.” “Nor I either,” said Bill Jones. Hy Allen was a little slower, but in a moment more he came in with: “Zeb, ask him how he does it. I own up. It beats me.”