I consequently lent him my aid seriously; but this only made things worse:--the more he was held, the more violent and outrageous he became.

He foamed at the mouth--stormed--swore--and tore about with such vehemence, that I really began to think the fellow was a dull flint, which produced, fire slowly, but that there was fire in him.

The struggle still proceeded, and we pulled and dragged each other through every part of the house:--chairs, and tables, and office-stools were all overturned--and Phil's cry was still for war.
"It's all to no purpose,' he shouted--'I'll not leave an unbroken bone in that scoundrel Hartley's body.' "'I know you wouldn't, if you got at him,' said Val.

'He would certainly be the death of him,' he added aside tome; 'he would give him some fatal blow, and that's what I'm afraid of.' "Phil was now perfectly furious--in fact he resembled a drunken man, and might have passed for such.
"'Hartley, you scoundrel, where are you, till I make mummy of you ?' he shouted.
"'Here I am,' replied Hartley, entering' the room, walking up to him, and looking him sternly in the face--'here I am--what's your will with me ?' "So comic a paralysis was, perhaps, never witnessed.

Phil stood motionless, helpless, speechless.