“There, don't preach to me, you canting young prig,” said Cumberland angrily, and immediately left the room.
“You hit him pretty hard then,” whispered Coleman; “a very bad piece of business happened just before I came, about his winning a lot of tin from a young fellow here, at billiards, and they do say that Cumberland did not play fairly. It was rather unlucky your saying it; he will be your enemy from henceforth, depend upon it. He never forgets nor forgives a thing of that sort.”
“I meant no harm by the remark,” replied I; “I knew nothing of his having cheated any one; however, I do not care; I don't like him, and I'm just as well pleased he should not like me. But now, as my foreign relations seem to be rapidly assuming a warlike character (as the newspapers have it), what do you say to giving me a lesson in sparring, as you proposed, by way of preparation?”
“With all my heart,” replied Coleman.
And accordingly the gloves were produced, and my initiatory lesson in the pugilistic art commenced by Coleman's first placing me in an exceedingly uncomfortable attitude, and then very considerately knocking me out of it again, thereby depositing me with much skill and science flat upon the hearth-rug. This manouvre he repeated with great success during some half hour or so, at the end of which time I began to discover the knack with which it was done, and proceeded to demonstrate the proficiency I was making, by a well-directed blow, which, being delivered with much greater force than I had intended, sent Coleman flying across the room. Chancing to encounter Mullins in the course, of his transit he overturned that worthy against the table in the centre of the apartment, which, yielding to their combined weight, fell over with a grand crash, dragging them down with it, in the midst of an avalanche of books, papers, and inkstands.
This grand coup brought, as might be expected, our lesson to a close for the day, Coleman declaring that such another hit would inevitably knock him into the middle of next week, if not farther, and that he really should not feel justified in allowing such a serious interruption to his studies to take place.
“And now, what are we going to do with ourselves?” asked I; “as this is a holiday, we ought to do something.”
“Are you fond of riding?” inquired Coleman.
“Nothing I like better,” replied I; “I have been used to it all my life; I have had a pony ever since I was four years old.”
“I wish I was used to it,” said Coleman. “My governor living in London, I never crossed a horse till I came here, and I'm a regular muff at it; but I want to learn. What do you say to a ride this afternoon?”