Cashel Byron's Profession

"There is not the slightest reason for anger," said Mrs. Byron,

angry herself. "Your temper seems to have become ungovernable--or,

rather, to have remained so; for it was never remarkable for

sweetness."

"No," retorted Cashel, jeering good-humoredly. "Not the slightest

occasion to lose my temper! Not when I am told that I am silly and

low! Why, I think you must fancy that you're talking to your little

Cashel, that blessed child you were so fond of. But you're not.

You're talking--now for a screech, Miss Carew!--to the champion of

Australia, the United States, and England, holder of three silver

belts and one gold one (which you can have to wear in 'King John' if

you think it'll become you); professor of boxing to the nobility and

gentry of St. James's, and common prize-fighter to the whole globe,

without reference to weight or color, for not less than five hundred

pounds a side. That's Cashel Byron."

Mrs. Byron recoiled, astounded. After a pause she said, "Oh, Cashel,

how COULD you?" Then, approaching him again, "Do you mean to say

that you go out and fight those great rough savages?"

"Yes, I do."

"And that you BEAT them?"

"Yes. Ask Miss Carew how Billy Paradise looked after standing before

me for an hour."

"You wonderful boy! What an occupation! And you have done all this

in your own name?"

"Of course I have. I am not ashamed of it. I often wondered whether

you had seen my name in the papers."

"I never read the papers. But you must have heard of my return to

England. Why did you not come to see me?"

"I wasn't quite certain that you would like it," said Cashel,

uneasily, avoiding her eye. "Hullo!" he exclaimed, as he attempted

to refresh himself by another look at Lydia, "she's given us the

slip."

"She is quite right to leave us alone together under the

circumstances. And now tell me why my precious boy should doubt that

his own mother wished to see him."

"I don't know why he should," said Cashel, with melancholy

submission to her affection. "But he did."

"How insensible you are! Did you not know that you were always my

cherished darling--my only son?"

Cashel, who was now sitting beside her on an ottoman, groaned and

moved restlessly, but said nothing.

"Are you glad to see me?"

"Yes," said Cashel, dismally, "I suppose I am. I--By Jingo," he

cried, with sudden animation, "perhaps you can give me a lift here.

I never thought of that. I say, mamma; I am in great trouble at

present, and I think you can help me if you will."