next five minutes Barry
had no reason to complain of soft work, for his father went after him
with all the fight that was in him, so that in spite of a vigorous
defence the son was forced to take refuge in a runaway game.

"Now you're going!" shouted the son, making a fierce counter with his
right to a hard driven left, which he side-stepped. It was a fatal
exposure. Like the dart of a snake the right hand hook got him below the
jaw, and he was hurled breathless on the couch at the side of the room.

"Got you now!" said his father.

"Not quite yet," cried Barry. Like a cat he was on his feet, breathing
deep breaths, dodging about, fighting for time.

"Enough!" cried his father, putting down his hands.

"Play up!" shouted Barry, who was rapidly recovering his wind. "No soft
work. Watch out!"

Again the father was on guard, while Barry, who seemed to have drawn
upon some secret source of strength, came at him with a whirlwind
attack, feinting, jabbing, swinging, hooking, till finally he landed a
short half arm on the jaw, which staggered his father against the wall.

"Pax!" cried the young man. "I have all I want."

"Great!" said his father. "I believe you could fight, boy, if you were
forced to."

In the shed they sluiced each other with pails of water, had a rub down
and got into their dressing gowns.

"I feel fine, now, dad, and ready for anything," said Barry, glowing
with his exercise and his tub. "I was feeling like a quitter. I guess
that asthma got at my nerve. But I believe I will see it through some
way."

"Yes?" said his father, and waited.

"Yes. They were talking blue ruin in there to-night. Finances are
behind, congregation is running down, therefore the preacher is a
failure."

"Well, lad, remember this," said his father, "never let your liver
decide any course of action for you. Some good stiff work, a turn
with the gloves, for instance, is the best preparation I know for any
important decision. A man cannot decide wisely when he feels grubby.
Your asthma this afternoon is a symptom of liver."

"It is humiliating to a creature endowed with conscience and intellect
to discover how small a part these play at times in his decisions.
The ancients were not far wrong who made the liver the seat of the
emotions."

"Well," said his father, "it is a good thing to remember that most of
our bad hours come from our livers. So the preacher is a failure? Who
said so?"

"Oh, a number of them, princ