Cashel Byron's Profession

"And who are you; and where are you shoving your elbow to?" said the

man, with a surpassing imprecation.

"Come, come," said Cashel Byron, admonitorily. "You'd better keep

your mouth clean if you wish to keep your teeth inside it. Never you

mind who I am."

Lydia, foreseeing an altercation, and alarmed by the threatening

aspect of the man, attempted to hurry away and send a policeman to

Cashel's assistance. But, on turning, she discovered that a crowd

had already gathered, and that she was in the novel position of a

spectator in the inner ring at what promised to be a street fight.

Her attention was recalled to the disputants by a violent

demonstration on the part of her late assailant. Cashel seemed

alarmed; for he hastily retreated a step without regard to the toes

of those behind him, and exclaimed, waving the other off with his

open hand, "Now, you just let me alone. I don't want to have anything to say to

you. Go away from me, I tell you."

"You don't want to have nothink to say to me! Oh! And for why?

Because you ain't man enough; that's why. Wot do you mean by coming

and shoving your elbow into a man's bread-basket for, and then

wanting to sneak off? Did you think I'd 'a' bin frightened of your

velvet coat?"

"Very well," said Cashel, pacifically; "we'll say that I'm not man

enough for you. So that's settled. Are you satisfied?"

But the other, greatly emboldened, declared with many oaths that he

would have Cashel's heart out, and also that of Lydia, to whom he

alluded in coarse terms. The crowd cheered, and called upon him to

"go it." Cashel then said, sullenly, "Very well. But don't you try to make out afterwards that I forced a

quarrel on you. And now," he added, with a grim change of tone that

made Lydia shudder, and shifted her fears to the account of his

antagonist, "I'll make you wish you'd bit your tongue out before you

said what you did a moment ago. So, take care of yourself."

"Oh, I'll take care of myself," said the man, defiantly. "Put up

your hands."

Cashel surveyed his antagonist's attitude with unmistakable

disparagement. "You will know when my hands are up by the feel of

the pavement," he said, at last. "Better keep your coat on. You'll

fall softer."

The rough expressed his repudiation of this counsel by beginning to

strip energetically. A thrill of delight passed through the crowd.

Those who had bad places pressed forward, and those who formed the

inner ring pressed back to make room for the combatants. Lydia, who

occupied a coveted position close to Cashel, hoped to be hustled out

of the throng; for she was beginning to feel faint and ill. But a

handsome butcher, who had made his way to her side, gallantly swore

that she should not be deprived of her place in the front row, and

bade her not be frightened, assuring her that he would protect her,

and that the fight would be well worth seeing. As he spoke, the mass

of faces before Lydia seemed to give a sudden lurch. To save herself

from falling, she slipped her arm through the butcher's; and he,

much gratified, tucked her close to him, and held her up

effectually. His support was welcome, because it was needed.