"Exercise, that's the essence of life, my boy!" he continued. "I
firmly believe I could run five miles to-day without straining a
muscle."
I laughed internally and thought of the glorious opportunity he'd
have before the morning broke.
"You may or may not know, John," the old gentleman kept on, "that I
was a remarkably fine swordsman in my younger days. Parry, thrust,
cut, slash--heigho! those were the times. And, to tell you the
truth, I'm still able to hold my own with the sword or pistol. I
found a sword hanging on the wall in the hall to-day and I've been
practising a few swings."
A vision of Uncle Peter running a rusty sword into the interior
department of the disguised and disgusted Bunch rose before me, but
I blew it away with a laugh.
"He laughs best who laughs in his sleeve," chuckled the old party.
"Now that we're out in the country all of us should learn to handle
a sword or a pistol. It gives us self reliance. It's very
different from living in the city, I tell you. A tramp in the
lock-up is worth two in the kitchen. I shot at a mark for an hour
to-day."
"What with?" I gasped.
"With a bow and arrow I bought for Tacks yesterday directly I
learned we were coming to the country. I hit the bull's eye five
out of six times. An ounce of prevention is worth two hundred
pounds of policemen, you know. Tacks practised, too, and drove an
arrow through a strange man's overalls and was chased half a mile
for his skill in marksmanship, but, as I said before, the exercise
will do him good.
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