her,--where of necessity I must be
alone with him,--don't you agree with me that a third person would only
embarrass matters rather than advance them?"

"No!" said Grog, sternly, while he puffed his cigar in measured time.

"I 'm speaking," said Beecher, in a tone of apology,--"I'm speaking,
remember, from my knowledge of Lackington. He's very high and very
proud,--one of those fellows who 'take on,' even with their equals; and
with myself, he never forgets to let me feel I'm a younger brother."

"He would n't take any airs with _me_," said Grog, insolently. And
Beecher grew actually sick at the bare thought of such a meeting.

"I tell you frankly, Davis," said he, with the daring of despair, "it
wouldn't do. It would spoil all. First and foremost, Lackington would
never forgive me for having confided this secret to any one. He'd say,
and not unfairly either, 'What has Davis to do with this? It's not
the kind of case he is accustomed to deal with; his counsel could n't
possibly be essential here.' _He_ does n't know," added he, rapidly,
"your consummate knowledge of the world; _he_ hasn't seen, as I have,
how keenly you read every fellow that comes before you."

"We start on Monday," said Grog, abruptly, as he threw the end of his
cigar into the fire; "so stir yourself, and see about the bills."

Beecher arose and walked the room with hurried strides, his brow growing
darker and his face more menacing at every moment.

"Look here, Davis," cried he, turning suddenly round and facing the
other, "you assume to treat me as if I was a--schoolboy;" and it was
evident that he had intended a stronger word, but had not courage to
utter it, for Davis's wicked eyes were upon him, and a bitter grin of
irony was already on Grog's mouth as he said,--

"Did you ever try a round with _me_ without getting the worst of it? Do
you remember any time where you came well out of it? You 've been mauled
once or twice somewhat roughly, but with the gloves on,--always with
the gloves on. Now, take my advice, and don't drive me to take them
off,--don't! You never felt my knuckles yet,--and, by the Lord Harry, if
you had, you'd not call out 'Encore.'"

"You just want to bully me," said Beecher, in a whimpering tone.

"Bully you,--bully _you!_" said Davis, and his features put on a look of
the most intense scorn as he spoke. "Egad!" cried he, with an insolent
laugh, "you know very little about either of us."

"I'd rather you'd do your wo