Cashel Byron's Profession

"Rules be d---d," Lydia heard him shouting. "He bit me; and I'll

throw him to--" Then everybody spoke at once; and she could only

conjecture where he would throw him to. He seemed to have no

self-control: Paradise, when he came to himself, behaved better.

Lord Worthington descended into the ring and tried to calm the

hubbub; but Cashel shook his hand fiercely from his arm; menaced a

manager who attempted to call him sternly to order; frantically

pounded his wounded shoulder with his clenched fist, and so outswore

and outwrangled them all, that even Skene began to urge that there

had been enough fuss made. Then Lord Worthington whispered a word

more; and Cashel suddenly subsided, pale and ashamed, and sat down

on a chair in his corner as if to hide himself. Five minutes

afterwards, he stepped out from the crowd with Paradise, and shook

hands with him amid much cheering. Cashel was the humbler of the

two. He did not raise his eyes to the balcony once; and he seemed in

a hurry to retire. But he was intercepted by an officer in uniform,

accompanied by a black chief, who came to conduct him to the dais

and present him to the African king; an honor which he was not

permitted to decline.

The king informed him, through an interpreter, that he had been

unspeakably gratified by what he had just witnessed; expressed great

surprise that Cashel, notwithstanding his prowess, was neither in

the army nor in Parliament; and finally offered to provide him with

three handsome wives if he would come out to Africa in his suite.

Cashel was much embarrassed; but he came off with credit, thanks to

the interpreter, who was accustomed to invent appropriate speeches

for the king on public occasions, and was kind enough to invent

equally appropriate ones for Cashel on this.

Meanwhile, Lord Worthington had returned to his place. "It is all

settled now," he said to Lydia. "Byron shut up when I told him his

aristocratic friends were looking at him; and Paradise has been so

bullied that he is crying in a corner down-stairs. He has

apologized; but he still maintains that he can beat our mutual

friend without the gloves; and his backers apparently think so too,

for it is understood that they are to fight in the autumn for a

thousand a side."

"To fight! Then he has no intention of giving up his profession?"

"No!" said Lord Worthington, astonished. "Why on earth should he

give it up? Paradise's money is as good as in his pocket. You have

seen what he can do."