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358 native sea-foam; he stuck his hair up on end, and scratched his head with his ten nails; and tweaked his nose, and pulled his fingers and toes till they cracked again!

All this Ted Flaggan, being tough, bore with passing fortitude, frequently saying to the Moor, internally, for soap forbade the opening of his lips—"Go ahead, me lad, an' do yer worst!"

But although his tormentor utterly failed to move him by fair means, he knew of a foul method which proved successful. He crossed Ted's arms over his breast, and attempted to draw them as far over as possible, with the view, apparently, of tying them into a knot.

"Pull away, me hearty!" thought Flaggan, purposely making himself as limp as possible.

The Moor did pull; and while his victim's arms were stretched across each other to the uttermost, he suddenly fell upon them, thereby almost forcing the shoulder-joints out of their sockets.

"Och! ye spalpeen!" shouted Ted, flinging him off as if he had been a feather. Then, sinking back, he added, "Come on; you'll not ketch me slaipin' again, me honey!"

The amused Moor accepted the invitation, and returned to the charge. He punched him, baked him, boxed him, and battered him, and finally, drenching him with ice-cold water, swathed him in