The bout ended, and Swipes gave me his hand with a cheering word as I left him.
“I told 'em you could fight,” he whispered.
I had a hard week of it then, for they were bound to know what I was made of—those warlike and barbaric people. I avenged my wrongs, and stepped off the plane of reprobation and contempt forever.
I tried to like my task, and worked hard and spent three evenings a week with Mr. Pearl. He lived in his little shop, and had been kind enough to offer me what help he could in my studies. He had some learning, a rare talent in mathematics, and a genius for explanation. I brought my suppers with me, and we often ate together.
The first time I entered the shop, after my week of battle, the Pearl looked at me and laughed.
“Confound that dog!” he exclaimed.
The dog stood up before him.
“I've often talked to you about fighting,” said the Pearl. “I want t' tell you again it's poor business, Mr. Barker.”
“He's an awful quarrelsome cuss,” he added, as he dismissed the dog and turned to me with an apology for delay.
We had scarcely begun our work when Mr. McCarthy entered. He had two good legs under him—so one might have thought—and a shoe on each foot, and a step like that of a sound man. He was “all dressed up,” as they used to say, and a bit too well aware of it. He took off his hat and bowed politely.