My Friend Smith Part 36

"No," replied I.

"Better," said Flanagan, "and your collar too."

This was awful! My collar was a paper one, and pinned on to the shirt in two places!

"No!" I cried, in desperation at these officious offers; "let me alone, please."

"Oh, all serene! But he's got the pull of you."

Perhaps if I had had a clean linen shirt on, with studs down the front, I might have been more tractable in the matter of peeling.

It had by this time gradually dawned on me that I was in for a fight, and that there was no getting out of it. My adversary was bigger than I was, and evidently far more at home with the customs of the prize-ring.

I would fain have escaped, but what could I do?

Meanwhile the table was hurriedly pushed into a corner of the room and the chairs piled up in a heap.

"Now then!" cried the Field-Marshal, who, in some miraculous manner, now appeared as backer to the fellow with whom a few minutes ago he had been quarrelling--"now then, aren't you ready there?"

"Yes," said Flanagan, rolling up my shirt-sleeves; "all ready! Now then, old man, straight out from the shoulder, you know. Keep your toes straight, and guard forward. Now then--there!"

I was in for it then; and, being in for it, the only thing was to go through with it, and that I determined to do.

My adversary advanced towards me, half prancing, with his hands high, his elbows out, his face red, and his straw jerking about like a steam- engine. It might be showy form, I thought, but from the very little I knew of boxing it was not good. And the closer we approached the more convinced of this I was, and the more hope I seemed to have of coming out of the affair creditably.

Now, reader, whoever you are, before I go further I ask you to remember that I am recording in this book not what I ought to have done, but what I did do. You will very likely have your own opinions as to what I should have done under the circ.u.mstances. You may think that I should, at all costs, have declined to fight; you may think I should have summoned the police; you may think I should have stood with my hands behind my back till my face was the size of a football, and about the same colour; or you may think I was right in standing up to hit my man, and doing all I knew to demolish him. Do not let me embarra.s.s your judgment; my duty just now is merely to tell you what did happen.

As I expected, Whipcord's idea seemed to be to knock me out of time at the very beginning of the encounter, and therefore during the first round I found it needed all my efforts to frustrate this little design, without attempting on my part to take the offensive.

As it was, I did not altogether succeed, for, Whipcord being taller than I, I could not help coming in for one or two downward blows, which, however, thanks to my hard head, seemed more formidable to the spectators than they really were.

"Not half bad," was Flanagan's encouraging comment when in due time I retired to his side for a short breathing s.p.a.ce. "I never thought you'd be so well up to him. Are you much damaged?"

"No," said I.

"Well, you'd best play steady this next round too," said my second. "He can't hold out long with his elbows that height. If you like you can have a quiet shot or two at his breastplate, just to get your hand in for the next round."

This advice I, now quite warmed up to the emergency, adopted.

Whipcord returned to his sledge-hammer tactics, and as carelessly as ever, too; for more than once I got in under his guard, and once, amid terrific plaudits, got "home"--so Flanagan called it--on his chin, in a manner which, I flattered myself, fairly astonished him.

"Now then, Whip, what are you thinking about?" cried the Field-Marshal; "you aren't going to let the young 'un lick you, surely?"

"Time!" cried Daly, before the bruised one could reply; and so ended round two, from which I retired covered with dust and glory.

I felt very elated, and was quite pleased with myself now that I had, stood up to my man. It seemed perfectly plain I had the battle in my own hands, so I inwardly resolved if possible to bring the affair to an end in the next round, and let my man off easy.

Conceited a.s.s that I was! To my amazement and consternation, Whipcord came up to the scratch on time being called in an entirely new light.

Instead of being the careless slogger I had taken him for, he went to work now in a most deliberate and scientific manner. It gradually dawned on me that I had been played with so far, and that my man was only now beginning to give his mind to the business. a.s.s that I had been! Poor wretch that I was!

Before the round had well begun I was reeling about like a ninepin. The little knowledge of pugilism I had, or thought I had, was like child's play against the deliberate downright a.s.sault of this practised hand. I did what I could, but it was very little. The laughter of my opponents and the gibes of my backers all tended to flurry me and lose me my head.

Let me draw a veil over that scene.

My opponent was not one of the sort to give quarter. He had had a blow of mine on his chin in the last round, and he had heard the laughter and cheers which greeted it. It was his turn now, and he took his turn as long as I could stand up before him. It seemed as if "time!" would never be called. I was faint and sick, and my face--

Ah! that last was a finishing stroke. I could keep my feet no longer, and fell back into Flanagan's arms amidst a perfect roar of laughter and applause.

At that moment the shame was almost more bitter to me than the pain.

This then was the result of my high living! This was what I had got by turning up my nose at my lot in Beadle Square, and aspiring to a.s.sociate with my betters! This was the manner in which I was to make an impression on my old schoolfellow, and improve my footing with my new friends! No wonder I felt ashamed.

"You'd better invest in a little raw beefsteak," said Flanagan; "that's what will do you most good."

This was all the comfort I got. The fight being over, everybody lost his interest in me and my opponent, and, as if nothing had happened, proceeded to re-discuss the question of playing cards or taking a walk.

I was left to put on my poor shabby coat without help, and no one noticed me as I slunk from the room. Even Flanagan, from whom I had at least expected some sympathy, was too much taken up with the others to heed me; and as I walked slowly and unsteadily that night along the London streets, I felt for the first time since I came to the great city utterly friendless and miserable.

When I returned to Beadle Square every one had gone to bed except one boy, who was sitting up, whistling merrily over a postage-stamp alb.u.m, into which he was delightedly sticking some recent acquisition. I could not help thinking bitterly how his frame of mind contrasted at that moment with mine. He was a nice boy, lately come. He kept a diary of everything he did, and wrote and heard from home every week. The fellows all despised him, and called him a pious young prig, because he said his prayers at night, and went to a chapel on Sundays. But, prig or not, he was as happy as a king over his stamps, and the sight made me (I knew not why), tenfold more miserable.

"Hullo!" said he, stopping whistling as I came in, "there's a letter for you. I say, if you get any foreign stamps at your office I wish you'd save them for me, will you? Look, here's a jolly Brazil one; I got it-- what's the matter?"

I heard not a word of his chatter, for the letter was from Packworth.

"Sir,--We're afraid poor Master Johnny is very bad--he's been taken to the hospital. He said, when he took ill, that it must have been a boy he took out of the streets and let sleep in his bed. Oh, sir, we are so sad! The young lady is better; but if Johnny dies--"

I could read no more. The excitement and injuries of the evening, added to this sudden and terrible news of my only friend, were too much for me. I don't exactly know what happened to me, but I have an idea young Larkins was not able to get on with his postage-stamps much more that evening.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

HOW I EXPERIENCED SOME OF THE DOWNS AND UPS OF FORTUNE.

My reader will hardly accuse me of painting myself in too flattering colours. I only wish I could promise him that the record of my folly should end here. But, alas! if he has patience to read my story to the end he will find that Frederick Batchelor's folly was too inveterate to be chased away by two black eyes and a piece of bad news.

But for the time being I was fairly cowed. As I lay awake that next morning, after a night of feverish tossing and dreaming, I could think of nothing but my friend Smith--ill, perhaps dying, in the hospital at Packworth. I could do nothing to help him; I might not even go near him. Who could tell if ever I should see him again? And then came the memory of my cowardly refusal to stand up for him in his absence when he was being insulted and mocked behind his back. No wonder I despised myself and hated my life in London without him!

I got out of bed, determined at all costs to turn over a new leaf, and show every one that I _was_ ashamed of what I had done. But as I did so I became faint and sick, and was obliged to crawl back to bed. I had all this time nearly forgotten my bruises and injuries of the previous evening, but I was painfully reminded of them now, and gradually all the misery of that exploit returned, and along with it a new alarm.

If Smith had caught smallpox from that wretched little street boy, was it not possible--nay, probable--I might be beginning with it too? It was not a pleasant thought, and the bare suggestion was enough to convince me I was really becoming ill.

"I say, aren't you going to get up?" said young Larkins, at my bedside, presently, evidently having come to see how I was getting on after last night's sensation: "or are you queer still?"

"I'm very queer," said I, "and can't get up. I think I'm going to be ill, Larkins. Would you mind calling at Hawk Street, and telling them there?"

"All right!" said Larkins. "But what's the matter with you?"

"I'm not quite sure, but I'm afraid--have I got any spots coming out on my face?"

"Eh? No; but your face is all black and blue, and there's a big b.u.mp on one cheek."