"You're another." "So are you." "I am, am I?" "Yes; a cocky overbearing bully. You want your comb cut, Gil Vincent." "Cut it, then, you miserable humbug. Take that." Crack-thud! My fist went home on Morton's cheek, and almost simultaneously his flew out and struck me in the ribs. Crack-thud! Morton's return sounding like an echo of my blow.