How if war is forced on us?
Then we fight.

Suppose we are not prepared ?--We soon get that up.

Skepsey requested him to state the degree of resistance he might think he could bring against a pair of skilful fists, in a place out of hearing of the police.
'Say, you!' said the pork-butcher, and sharply smiled, for he was a man of size.
'I would give you two minutes,' rejoined Skepsey, eyeing him intently and kindly: insomuch that it could be seen he was not in the conundrum vein.
'Rather short allowance, eh, master ?' said the bigger man.

'Feel here'; he straightened out his arm and doubled it, raising a proud bridge of muscle.
Skepsey performed the national homage to muscle.
'Twice that, would not help without the science,' he remarked, and let his arm be gripped in turn.
The pork-butcher's throat sounded, as it were, commas and colons, punctuations in his reflections, while he tightened fingers along the iron lump.

'Stringy.