‘Got yew,’ snarled the Slug. ‘Now ya goin' ter git wot's comin' to ya.’ He punched me hard in the ribs. My breath left me with a rush. It hurt. ‘Pull 'im over to the wall,’ he commanded his henchmen. He wanted me against the wall where we were less in view. He punched me again in the ribs. I tried to ride the blow but with Creepy and Slim holding my arms there was little I could do. I tried appealing to his sense of fair play: ‘You foul coward. Three against one, and a little one at that. Tell your thugs to let me go and we'll fight this out man to man.’ ‘'Ark at little Sir Galahad,’ he sneered. ‘Wants ter fight it out man ter man.’ He punched me again in the ribs. He then picked up Slim's switch and cut me across the legs with it. It smarted. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Kate had crept a little closer. She had her fists clenched. ‘Leave him alone you big bully!’ she cried, but my tormentors from the Adare road took no notice. ‘Go home, Katy,’ I shouted and my lungs hurt. ‘This is between me and him. We'll settle it between us. Go home.’ But she didn't move. ‘Oi'll settle yew awright,’ growled the Slug. ‘Shut ya gob.’ He pulled out a cassock and slipped it across my shoulders. ‘Hmm, not bad, not bad― a bit long. Button it up. Can you walk? Walk a few steps and back again― No, no, not like that. You put one foot exactly in front of the other and slowly. Try it again. That's better, that's better. Now for a surplice. We need the small size. Ah, here we are, here we are.’ He found a surplice and dropped it over my head. ‘Right, turn around, right around. Yes, that's fine.’ He closed the lid of the chest. ‘After the service you can hang your vestments on this peg here. It's number 11. Remember that: number 11. We'll put your name on it later. So, that's you fixed. Ah no: wait here a moment.’ Peter lives at Fernside Snaylor, the Slug from Adare Road