A big green car was leaving his front gate. He was a long time in recalling who came up in it. 92
His breath was coming slowly. He tried to speak, but a strange, unnatural wheeze came from his lips. A fit of coughing followed. At last he got upon his feet, steadying himself against the window casing. For a long time he stood there, working it all out in his dizzy, thumping brain.
He put his hand to his lips and then stared dully at the stains that covered it when he took it away. Then it all came back to him with a rush. Like a guilty, hunted thing he slunk upstairs to his room, carefully avoiding the room in which Phoebe was being bedecked in her Sunday frock. Her high, shrill voice came to his ears. He was weeping bitterly, sobbing like a whipped child.
He almost fainted when he first peered into the mirror on his bureau. His eyes were beginning to puff out like great knobs, his face and shirt front were saturated with his own plucky blood. Plucky! The word occurred to him as he looked. Yes, he had been plucky. He didn’t know it was in him to be so plucky. A sort of pride in himself arose to offset the pain and mortification. Yes, he had defended his honour and Nellie’s. She should hear of it! 93 He would tell her what he had done and how Fairfax had struck him down with a chair. She would then deny to him that she had said those awful things about him. She would be proud of him!
Carefully he washed his hands and face. With trembling fingers he applied court-plaster to his lips, acting with speed because his eyes were closing. Some one had told him that raw beefsteak was good for black eyes. He wondered if bacon would do as well. There was no beefsteak in the house.
His legs faltered as he made his way to the back stairs. Bridget was coming up. She started back with a howl.
“Come here, Bridget,” he whispered. “Into my room. Be quick!” He retreated. He would employ her aid and swear her to secrecy. The Irish know a great deal about fighting, he reflected.
“In the name av Hivvin, sor, what has happened to yez?” whispered Bridget, aghast in the doorway.
“Come in and I’ll tell you,” said he, with a groan.
Presently a childish voice came clamouring 94 at the locked door. He heard it as from afar. Bridget paused in her ministrations. He had just said:—