"What do ye mean?" he demanded, looking up into Farrington's face.
"What do I mean? Well, if ye want to know, I mean that Parson John is a
rogue, an' that you are nuthin' but a young sucker, an impudent outcast,
spongin' fer yer livin' upon others."
Hardly had the words left Farrington's lips, when, with a cry as of a wild
animal, Dan leaped full upon him, caught him by the hair with one hand,
and with the other rained blow after blow upon his face.
With a howl of mingled pain and rage, Farrington endeavoured to free
himself from this human wild-cat. He struggled and fought, and at length
succeeded in tearing away that writhing, battering form. With one hand he
held him at arm's length and shook him as a terrier shakes a rat. Dan
struggled, squirmed and bit, but all in vain; he was held as in a vice.
Not satisfied with shaking the lad, Farrington reached over and, seizing a
broken barrel stave from the wood-box, brought it down over the lad's
shoulder and back with a resounding thud. A cry of pain, the first that he
had uttered, fell from Dan's lips, and with a mighty effort he tried to
escape.
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