“Of this cheer, my son,” said the author of my being, with characteristic pomposity, which age had not withered, “there is sufficient for but two.  I am not, I hope, insensible to the hunger-light in your eyes, but—­”

My father has never completed that sentence; what he mistook for hunger-light was simply the earnest gaze of the hypnotist.  In a few seconds he was at my service.  A few more sufficed for the lady, and the dictates of a just resentment could be carried into effect.  “My former father,” I said, “I presume that it is known to you that you and this lady are no longer what you were?”

“I have observed a certain subtle change,” was the rather dubious reply of the old gentleman; “it is perhaps attributable to age.”

“It is more than that,” I explained; “it goes to character—­to species.  You and the lady here are, in truth, two broncos—­wild stallions both, and unfriendly.”

“Why, John,” exclaimed my dear mother, “you don’t mean to say that I am—­”

“Madam,” I replied, solemnly, fixing my eyes again upon hers, “you are.”

Scarcely had the words fallen from my lips when she dropped upon her hands and knees, and backing up to the old man squealed like a demon and delivered a vicious kick upon his shin!  An instant later he was himself down on all-fours, headed away from her and flinging his feet at her simultaneously and successively.  With equal earnestness but inferior agility, because of her hampering body-gear, she plied her own.  Their flying legs crossed and mingled in the most bewildering way; their feet sometimes meeting squarely in midair, their bodies thrust forward, falling flat upon the ground and for a moment helpless.  On recovering themselves they would resume the combat, uttering their frenzy in the nameless sounds of the furious brutes which they believed themselves to be—­the whole region rang with their clamor!  Round and round they wheeled, the blows of their feet falling “like lightnings from the mountain cloud.”  They plunged and reared backward upon their knees, struck savagely at each other with awkward descending blows of both fists at once, and dropped again upon their hands as if unable to maintain the upright position of the body.  Grass and pebbles were torn from the soil by hands and feet; clothing, hair, faces inexpressibly defiled with dust and blood.  Wild, inarticulate screams of rage attested the delivery of the blows; groans, grunts and gasps their receipt.  Nothing more truly military was ever seen at Gettysburg or Waterloo:  the valor of my dear parents in the hour of danger can never cease to be to me a source of pride and gratification.  At the end of it all two battered, tattered, bloody and fragmentary vestiges of mortality attested the solemn fact that the author of the strife was an orphan.

Arrested for provoking a breach of the peace, I was, and have ever since been, tried in the Court of Technicalities and Continuances whence, after fifteen years of proceedings, my attorney is moving heaven and earth to get the case taken to the Court of Remandment for New Trials.