THE ESSENTIAL GEORGE BERNARD SHAW COLLECTION. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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СКАЧАТЬ kick on the ankle, was stung by Lydia’s injustice in according to the aggressor the sympathy due to himself, walked threateningly up to her and demanded, with a startling oath, whether HE had offered to do anything to the boy. And, as he refrained from applying any epithet to her, he honestly believed that in deference to Lydia’s sex and personal charms, he had expressed himself with studied moderation. She, not appreciating his forbearance, recoiled, and stepped into the roadway in order to pass him. Indignant at this attempt to ignore him, he again placed himself in her path, and was repeating his question with increased sternness, when a jerk in the pit of his stomach caused him a severe internal qualm, besides disturbing his equilibrium so rudely that he narrowly escaped a fall against the curb-stone. When he recovered himself he saw before him a showily dressed young man, who accosted him thus:

      “Is that the way to talk to a lady, eh? Isn’t the street wide enough for two? Where’s your manners?”

      “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 breadbasket 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.

      Meanwhile, Cashel stood motionless, watching with unrelenting contempt the movements of his adversary, who rolled up his discolored shirtsleeves amid encouraging cries of “Go it, Teddy,” “Give it ‘im, Ted,” and other more precise suggestions. But Teddy’s spirit was chilled; he 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 terrorstricken. 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 outfacing 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.”

      Cashel turned upon him curtly, and said, “Don’t you make so free with other people’s names, or perhaps you may get into trouble yourself.”

      The little man retreated hastily; but the crowd responded with three cheers as Cashel, with Lydia on his arm, withdrew through a lane of disreputable-looking girls, roughs of Teddy’s class, white-aproned shopmen who had left their counters to see the fight, and a few pale clerks, who looked with awe at the prizefighter, and with wonder at the refined appearance of his companion. The two were followed by a double file of boys, who, with their eyes fixed earnestly on Cashel, walked on the footways while he conducted Lydia down the middle of the narrow street. Not one of them turned a somersault or uttered a shout. Intent on their hero, they pattered along, coming into collision with every object that lay in their path. At last Cashel stopped. They instantly stopped too. He took some bronze coin from his pocket, rattled it in his hand, and addressed them.

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