"Do you mean to say," said Lydia, indignantly, "that they are going
to turn a sheep loose and hunt it on horseback with swords?"
Lord Worthington laughed and said yes; but it presently appeared
that by a sheep was meant a lean carcass of mutton. A stalwart
sergeant cut it in half as a climax to slicing lemons, bars of lead,
and silk handkerchiefs; and the audience, accustomed to see much
more disgusting sights in butchers' shops, liberally applauded him.
Two gentlemen of the Olympian Club now entered the enclosure which
Lord Worthington called the ring. After shaking hands with one
another as well as their huge padded gloves permitted, they hugged
themselves with their right arms as if there were some danger of
their stomachs falling out if not held tightly in, and danced round
one another, throwing out and retracting their left fists like
pawing horses. They were both, as Lydia learned from the
announcement of their names and achievements by the master of the
ceremonies, amateur champions. She thought their pawing and dancing
ridiculous; and when they occasionally rushed together and scuffled,
she could distinguish nothing of the leading off, stopping, ducking,
countering, guarding, and getting away to which Lord Worthington
enthusiastically invited her attention, and which elicited alternate
jeers and applause from the shilling audience below. She laughed
outright when, at the expiration of three minutes, the two dropped
supine into chairs at opposite corners of the ring as if they had
sustained excessive fatigue. At the end of a minute, some one
hoarsely cried "Time!" and they rose and repeated their previous
performance for three minutes more. Another minute of rest followed;
and then the dancing and pawing proceeded for four minutes, after
which the champions again shook hands and left the arena.
"And is that all?" said Lydia.
"That's all," said Lord Worthington. "It's the most innocent thing
in the world, and the prettiest."
"It does not strike me as being pretty," said Lydia; "but it seems
as innocent as inanity can make it." Her mind misgave her that she
had ignorantly and unjustly reproached Cashel Byron with ferocity
merely because he practised this harmless exercise.
The show progressed through several phases of skilled violence.
Besides single combats between men armed in various fashions, there
were tilts, tent-peggings, drilling and singlestick practice by
squads of British tars, who were loudly cheered, and more boxing and
vaulting by members of the club. Lydia's attention soon began to
wander from the arena. Looking down at the crowd outside the
palisades, she saw a small man whom she vaguely remembered, though
his face was turned from her. In conversation with him was a
powerful man dressed in a yellow tweed suit and green scarf. He had
a coarse, strong voice, and his companion a shrill, mean one, so
that their remarks could be heard by an attentive listener above the
confused noise of the crowd.