“Certainly. But perhaps you mean Vernet. If so, I am perfectly aware that he is an exiled Communard.”
“I do not mean Monsieur Vernet. You understand, I hope, that I do not approve of him, nor of your strange fancy for Nihilists, Fenians, and other doubtful persons; but I think that even you might draw the line at a prize-fighter.”
Lydia lost color, and said, almost inaudibly, “Cashel Byron!”
“Then you KNEW!” exclaimed Lucian, scandalized.
Lydia waited a moment to recover, settled herself quietly in her chair, and replied, calmly, “I know what you tell me—nothing more. And now, will you explain to me exactly what a prize-fighter is?”
“He is simply what his name indicates. He is a man who fights for prizes.”
“So does the captain of a man-of-war. And yet society does not place them in the same class—at least, I do not think so.”
“As if there could be any doubt that society does not! There is no analogy whatever between the two cases. Let me endeavor to open your eyes a little, if that be possible, which I am sometimes tempted to doubt. A prize-fighter is usually a man of naturally ferocious disposition, who has acquired some reputation among his associates as a bully; and who, by constantly quarrelling, has acquired some practice in fighting. On the strength of this reputation he can generally find some gambler willing to stake a sum of money that he will vanquish a pugilist of established fame in single combat. Bets are made between the admirers of the two men; a prize is subscribed for, each party contributing a share; the combatants are trained as racehorses, gamecocks, or their like are trained; they meet, and beat each other as savagely as they can until one or the other is too much injured to continue the combat. This takes place in the midst of a mob of such persons as enjoy spectacles of the kind; that is to say, the vilest blackguards whom a large city can afford to leave at large, and many whom it cannot. As the prize-money contributed by each side often amounts to upwards of a thousand pounds, and as a successful pugilist commands far higher terms for giving tuition in boxing than a tutor at one of the universities does for coaching, you will see that such a man, while his youth and luck last, may have plenty of money, and may even, by aping the manners of the gentlemen whom he teaches, deceive careless people—especially those who admire eccentricity—as to his character and position.”
“What is his true position? I mean before he becomes a prize-fighter.”
“Well, he may be a handicraftsman of some kind: a journeyman butcher, skinner, tailor, or baker. Possibly a soldier, sailor, policeman, gentleman’s servant, or what not? But he is generally a common laborer. The waterside is prolific of such heroes.”