ugh the half-open door;
"he's got a new 'art."

Mr. Ricketts looked perplexed. "'Art disease, d'ye mean?" he inquired,
hopefully. "Can't he fight no more?"

"A new 'art," said Mr. Billing. "It's as strong as ever it was, but it's
changed--brother."

"If you call me 'brother' agin I'll give you something for yourself, and
chance it," said Mr. Ricketts, ferociously. "I'm a pore man, but I've
got my pride."

Mr. Billing, with a smile charged with brotherly love, leaned his left
cheek towards him. "Hit it," he said, gently.

"Give it a smack and run, Bill," said the voice of a well-wisher inside.

"There'd be no need for 'im to run," said Mr. Billing. "I wouldn't hit
'im back for anything. I should turn the other cheek."

"Whaffor?" inquired the amazed Mr. Ricketts.

"For another swipe," said Mr. Billing, radiantly.

In the fraction of a second he got the first, and reeled back staggering.
The onlookers from the bar came out hastily. Mr. Ricketts, somewhat
pale, stood his ground.

"You see, I don't hit you," said Mr. Billing, with a ghastly attempt at a
smile.

He stood rubbing his cheek gently, and, remembering Mr. Purnip's
statements, slowly, inch by inch, turned the other in the direction of
his adversary. The circuit was still incomplete when Mr. Ricketts,
balancing himself carefully, fetched it a smash that nearly burst it.
Mr. Billing, somewhat jarred by his contact with the pavement, rose
painfully and confronted him.

"I've only got two cheeks, mind," he said, slowly.

Mr. Ricketts sighed. "I wish you'd got a blinking dozen," he said,
wistfully. "Well, so long. Be good."

He walked into the Blue Lion absolutely free from that sense of shame
which Mr. Purnip had predicted, and, accepting a pint from an admirer,
boasted noisily of his exploit. Mr. Billing, suffering both mentally and
physically, walked slowly home to his astonished wife.

"P'r'aps he'll be ashamed of hisself when 'e comes to think it over," he
murmured, as Mrs. Billing, rendered almost perfect by practice,
administered first aid.

"I s'pect he's crying his eyes out," she said, with a sniff. "Tell me if
that 'urts."

Mr. Billing told her, then, suddenly remembering himself, issued an
expurgated edition.

"I'm sorry for the next man that 'its you," said his wife, as she drew
back and regarded her handiwork.

"'Well, you needn't be," said Mr. Billing, with dignity. "It would take
more than a couple o' props in th