"It was a stupid joke. Mrs. Hoskyn had worried Worthington to bring
some celebrity to her house; and, in revenge, he took his pugilistic
protege."
"Hm!"
"I do not defend Worthington. But discretion is hardly to be
expected from him."
"He has discretion enough to understand a case of this kind
thoroughly. But let that pass. I have been thinking upon what you
tell me about these singular people, whose existence I hardly knew
of before. Now, Lucian, in the course of my reading I have come upon
denunciations of every race and pursuit under the sun. Very
respectable and well-informed men have held that Jews, Irishmen,
Christians, atheists, lawyers, doctors, politicians, actors,
artists, flesh-eaters, and spirit-drinkers are all of necessity
degraded beings. Such statements can be easily proved by taking a
black sheep from each flock, and holding him up as the type. It is
more reasonable to argue a man's character from the nature of his
profession; and yet even that is very unsafe. War is a cruel
business; but soldiers are not necessarily bloodthirsty and inhuman
men. I am not quite satisfied that a prize-fighter is a violent and
dangerous man because he follows a violent and dangerous
profession--I suppose they call it a profession."
Lucian was about to speak; but she interrupted him by continuing, "And yet that is not what concerns me at present. Have you found out
anything about Mr. Byron personally? Is he an ordinary
representative of his class?"
"No; I should rather think--and hope--that he is a very
extraordinary representative of it. I have traced his history back
to his boyhood, when he was a cabin-boy. Having apparently failed
to recommend himself to his employers in that capacity, he became
errand-boy to a sort of maitre d'armes at Melbourne. Here he
discovered where his genius lay; and he presently appeared in the
ring with an unfortunate young man named Ducket, whose jaw he
fractured. This laid the foundation of his fame. He fought several
battles with unvarying success; but at last he allowed his valor to
get the better of his discretion so far as to kill an Englishman who
contended with him with desperate obstinacy for two hours. I am
informed that the particular blow by which he felled the poor wretch
for the last time is known in pugilistic circles as 'Cashel's
killer,' and that he has attempted to repeat it in all his
subsequent encounters, without, however, achieving the same fatal
result. The failure has doubtless been a severe disappointment to
him. He fled from Australia and reappeared in America, where he
resumed his victorious career, distinguishing himself specially by
throwing a gigantic opponent in some dreadful fashion that these men
have, and laming him for life. He then--"