Cashel Byron's Profession

"Do you admire that man?" said Lord Worthington, following Lydia's

gaze.

"No. Is he anybody in particular?"

"He was a great man once--in the days of the giants. He was champion

of England. He has a special interest for us as the preceptor of a

mutual friend of ours."

"Please name him," said Lydia, intending that the mutual friend

should be named.

"Ned Skene," said Lord Worthington, taking her to mean the man

below. "He has done so well in the colonies that he has indulged

himself and his family with a trip to England. His arrival made

quite a sensation in this country: last week he had a crowded

benefit, at which he sparred with our mutual friend and knocked him

about like a baby. Our mutual behaved very well on the occasion in

letting himself be knocked about. You see he could have killed old

Skene if he had tried in earnest."

"Is that Skene?" said Lydia, looking at him with an earnest interest

that astonished Lord Worthington. "Ah! Now I recognize the man with

him. He is one of my tenants at the Warren Lodge--I believe I am

indebted to you for the introduction."

"Mellish the trainer?" said Lord Worthington, looking a little

foolish. "So it is. What a lovely bay that lancer has!--the second

from the far end."

But Lydia would not look at the lancer's horse. "Paradise!" she

heard Skene exclaim just then with scornful incredulity. "Ain't it

likely?" It occurred to her that if he was alluding to his own

chance of arriving there, it was not likely.

"Less likely things have happened," said Mellish. "I won't say that

Cashel Byron is getting stale; but I will say that his luck is too

good to last; and I know for a fact that he's gone quite melancholy

of late."

"Melancholy be blowed!" said Skene. "What should he go melancholy

for?"

"Oh, I know," said Mellish, reticently.

"You know a lot," retorted Skene with contempt. "I s'pose you mean

the young 'oman he's always talking to my missis about."

"I mean a young woman that he ain't likely to get. One of the

biggest swells in England--a little un with a face like the inside

of a oyster-shell, that he met down at Wiltstoken, where I trained

him to fight the Flying Dutchman. He went right off his training

after he met her--wouldn't do anything I told him. I made so

cock-sure that he'd be licked that I hedged every penny I had laid

on him except twenty pound that I got a flat to bet agin him down at

the fight after I had changed my mind. Curse that woman! I lost a

hundred pound by her."