Cashel Byron's Profession

Meanwhile, Cashel stood motionless, watching with unrelenting

contempt the movements of his adversary, who rolled up his

discolored shirt-sleeves amid encouraging cries of "Go it, Teddy,"

"Give it 'im, Ted," and other more precise suggestions. But Teddy's

spirit was chilled; be advanced with a presentiment that he was

courting destruction. He dared not rush on his foe, whose eye seemed

to discern his impotence. When at last he ventured to strike, the

blow fell short, as Cashel evidently knew it would; for he did not

stir. There was a laugh and a murmur of impatience in the crowd.

"Are you waiting for the copper to come and separate you?" shouted

the butcher. "Come out of your corner and get to work, can't you?"

This reminder that the police might balk him of his prey seemed to

move Cashel. He took a step forward. The excitement of the crowd

rose to a climax; and a little man near Lydia cut a frenzied caper

and screamed, "Go it, Cashel Byron."

At these words Teddy was terror-stricken. He made no attempt to

disguise his condition. "It ain't fair," he exclaimed, retreating as

far as the crowd would permit him. "I give in. Cut it, master;

you're too clever for me." But his comrades, with a pitiless jeer,

pushed him towards Cashel, who advanced remorselessly. Teddy dropped

on both knees. "Wot can a man say more than that he's had enough?"

he pleaded. "Be a Englishman, master; and don't hit a man when he's

down."

"Down!" said Cashel. "How long will you stay down if I choose to

have you up?" And, suiting the action to the word, he seized Teddy

with his left hand, lifted him to his feet, threw him into a

helpless position across his knee, and poised his right fist like a

hammer over his upturned face. "Now," he said, "you're not down.

What have you to say for yourself before I knock your face down your

throat?"

"Don't do it, gov'nor," gasped Teddy. "I didn't mean no harm. How

was I to know that the young lady was a pal o' yourn?" Here he

struggled a little; and his face assumed a darker hue. "Let go,

master," he cried, almost inarticulately. "You're ch--choking me."

"Pray let him go," said Lydia, disengaging herself from the butcher

and catching Cashel's arm.

Cashel, with a start, relaxed his grasp; and Teddy rolled on the

ground. He went away thrusting his hands iuto his sleeves, and

out-facing his disgrace by a callous grin. Cashel, without speaking,

offered Lydia his arm; and she, seeing that her best course was to

get away from that place with as few words as possible, accepted it,

and then turned and thanked the butcher, who blushed and became

speechless. The little man whose exclamation had interrupted the

combat, now waved his hat, and cried, "The British Lion forever! Three cheers for Cashel Byron."