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 fellows like him.”

He rolled up his sleeves over his plump arms as he spoke. I asked him, by the way, if he knew jiujitsu, because his arms looked powerful. Then he put force in his forearm, and told me to touch it. I felt its swelled muscle which was hard as the pumic stone in the public bathhouse.

I was deeply impressed by his massive strength, and asked him if he could not knock five or six of Red Shirt in a bunch. “Of course,” he said, and as he extended and bent back the arm, the lumpy muscle rolled round and round, which was very amusing. According to the statement of Porcupine himself, this muscle, if he bends the arm back with force, would snap a paper-string wound around it twice. I said I might do the same thing if it were a paper-string, and he challenged me. “No, you can’t,” he said. “See if you can.” As it would not look well if I failed, I did not try.

“Say, after you have drunk all you want to-night at the dinner, take a fall out of Red Shirt