"Come and see the row," says Tag. And off we went, with a
considerable number of people, who saw this strange move on his part.
We came to the tent, and there we found my poor Jemimarann fainting;
her mamma holding a smelling-bottle; the Baron, on the ground, holding
a handkerchief to his bleeding nose; and Orlando squaring at him, and
calling on him to fight if he dared.
My Jemmy looked at Crump very fierce. "Take that feller away," says she;
"he has insulted a French nobleman, and deserves transportation, at the
least."
Poor Orlando was carried off. "I've no patience with the little minx,"
says Jemmy, giving Jemimarann a pinch. "She might be a Baron's lady; and
she screams out because his Excellency did but squeeze her hand."
"Oh, mamma! mamma!" sobs poor Jemimarann, "but he was t-t-tipsy."
"T-t-tipsy! and the more shame for you, you hussy, to be offended with a
nobleman who does not know what he is doing."
A TOURNAMENT.
"I say, Tug," said MacTurk, one day soon after our flareup at Beulah,
"Kilblazes comes of age in October, and then we'll cut you out, as I
told you: the old barberess will die of spite when she hears what we
are going to do. What do you think? we're going to have a tournament!"
"What's a tournament?" says Tug, and so said his mamma when she heard
the news; and when she knew what a tournament was, I think, really, she
WAS as angry as MacTurk said she would be, and gave us no peace for days
together.
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