"And perhaps you mightn't destroy him—if he's such a good boxer," said Pollyooly anxiously.
"I should certainly destroy him," said Hilary Vance with a dignified certainty. "But to what purpose? Would it give me back my unstained ideal? No. The ideal once tarnished never shines as bright again."
His face was now calm—calm and growing sorrowful. Then a sudden apprehension appeared on it:
"Besides—suppose I broke a finger—a finger of my right hand. Why should I give this blackguard a chance of maiming me?" he cried, and looked at Pollyooly earnestly.
"I don't know, Mr. Vance," said Pollyooly, answering the question in his urgent eyes.
"If I did break a finger, it might be weeks—months before I could work again. Why, I might never be able to work again!" he cried.
"That's just what Mr. James was afraid of," said Pollyooly.
"Mr. James! Has he been here?" cried Hilary Vance; and there was far more uneasiness than pleasure in his tone on thus hearing of his friend's return.
"Yes. He came to know if you were engaged yet," said Pollyooly.
"Oh, did he?" said Hilary Vance very glumly.