Yet, strange to say, the man’s pugilistic powers were not rendered useless by his pacific life and profession.
One day he was passing down one of those streets where even the police prefer to go in couples. Suddenly a door burst open and a poor drunken woman was kicked out into the street by a big ruffian with whom Ned was not acquainted. Not satisfied with what he had done, the rough proceeded to kick the woman, who began to scream “murder!”
A crowd at once collected, for, although such incidents were common enough in such places, they always possessed sufficient interest to draw a crowd; but no one interfered, first, because no one cared, and, second, because the man was so big and powerful that every one was afraid of him.
Of course Ned interfered, not with an indignant statement that the man ought to be ashamed of himself, but, with the quiet remark—
“She’s only a woman, you know, an’ can’t return it.”
“An’ wot ’ave you got to do with it?” cried the man with a savage curse, as he aimed a tremendous blow at Ned with his right-hand.
Our pugilist expected that. He did not start or raise his hands to defend himself, he merely put his head to one side, and the huge fist went harmlessly past his ear. Savagely the rough struck out with the other fist, but Ned quietly, yet quickly put his head to the other side, and again the fist went innocently by. A loud laugh and cheer from the crowd greeted this, for, apart altogether from the occasion of the disagreement, this turning of the head aside was very pretty play on the part of Ned—being a remarkably easy-looking but exceedingly difficult action, as all boxers know. It enabled Ned to smile in the face of his foe without doing him any harm. But it enraged the rough to such an extent, that he struck out fast as well as hard, obliging Ned to put himself in the old familiar attitude, and skip about smartly.
“I don’t want to hurt you, friend,” said Ned at last, “but I can, you see!” and he gave the man a slight pat on his right cheek with one hand and a tap on the forehead with the other.
This might have convinced the rough, but he would not be convinced. Ned therefore gave him suddenly an open-handed slap on the side of the head which sent him through his own doorway; through his own kitchen—if we may so name it—and into his own coal-cellar, where he measured his length among cinders and domestic débris.
“I didn’t want to do it, friends,” said Ned in a mild voice, as soon as the laughter had subsided, “but, you see, in the Bible—a book I’m uncommon fond of—we’re told, as far as we can, to live peaceably with all men. Now, you see, I couldn’t live peaceably wi’ this man to-day. He wouldn’t let me, but I think I’ll manage to do it some day, for I’ll come back here to-morrow, and say I’m sorry I had to do it. Meanwhile I have a word to say to you about this matter.”