As the tongues met, Gwendolyn saw small bright splinters fly this way and that—­a shower of them!  These splinters darted downward, falling upon the road.  And each, as it lit, was an h!

The Policeman was frightened.  “Which is your best foot?” he called.

The King’s English indicated his right.  “This!”

“Then put it forward!”

“My goodness!” exclaimed Gwendolyn.  “Am I seeing this, or is it just Pretend?”

Thomas now warmed to the fray.  “Harm!” he scourged, “Harness!  Hash!  Hew!  Hoodwink!  Hurt and hurk!”

“’Eavens!” breathed the King’s English.

“Turn your cold shoulder,” advised the little old gentleman.

The King’s English thrust out the right.  And it helped!  “Oh, hayches don’t matter,” he panted.  “I’m hall right has long has ’is grammar doesn’t get too bad.”  And off came one of Thomas’s ears—­a large one—­and blew along the ground like a great leaf.

That was an unfortunate boast.  For Thomas, enraged by the loss of an ear, fought with renewed zeal.  “If you see he, just tell I!” he shouted.

The King’s English went pallid.  “If you see ’im, just tell me,” he gasped, meeting Thomas gallantly—­with the loss of only one splinter.

“Oh, I want you to win!” called Gwendolyn to him.

But the contest was unequal.  That was now plain.  The King’s English had polish and finish.  Thomas had more:  his tongue, newly sharpened, cut deep at each blow.

Unequal as was the contest, Jane’s interference a second time made it more so.  For as the fighters trampled to and fro, seeking the better of each other, she twirled near again.  “Try your verbs, Thomas!” she counseled.  “Try your verbs!”

Eagerly Thomas grasped this second hint.  “By which I could was!” he cried, with a curling stroke of the warped tongue; “or shall am!”

At that, the King’s English showed distressing weakness.  He seemed scarcely to have enough strength for another snap.  “By w’ich I could be!” he whipped back feebly; “or shall ’ave been!” And staggered sidewise.

Now the warped and twisted tongue began to chant past-participially:  “I done!  I done!!  I done!!!”

“’Elp!” implored the King’s English, fairly wan.  “Friends, this—­this fellow ’as treated me houtrageously for—­for yaaws!”

“Oh, worser and worser and worser,” pursued Thomas, changing suddenly to adverbs.

“Rawly now—!” The King’s English tottered to his knees.

“I did,” prompted Gwendolyn, eager to help him.

“I did,” repeated the King’s English—­but the polished tongue slipped from his grasp!

“I seen!” followed up Thomas.  “I sung!” Crack!  Crack!

It was the last fatal onslaught.

The scarlet-coated figure fell forward.  Yet bravely he strove again to give tongue-lash for tongue-lash—­by reaching out one palsied hand toward his weapon.