On one occasion, with feelings of timorous self-abasement, he ventured to remonstrate with his friend, but the effort was repelled. Possibly the thought of another reproof from Phil was the cause of Aspel’s decision not to look him up on the present occasion.
As he descended the steps, a man as tall and powerful as himself met him and stared him in the face. Aspel fired up at once and returned the stare. It was Abel Bones, on his way to post a letter. The glare intensified, and for a moment it seemed as if the two giants were about to fight. A small street boy, observing the pair, was transfixed with ardent hope, but he was doomed to disappointment. Bones had clenched his right hand. If he had advanced another inch the blood of the sea-kings would have declared for war on the spot, regardless of consequences. But Bones was too old a bird thus to come within reach of his great enemy, the law. Besides, a deeper though not immediate plan of revenge flashed into his mind. Relaxing the hand and frown simultaneously, he held out the former.
“Come,” he said, in a hearty tone, “I don’t bear you no ill-will for the crack on the nut you gave me, and you’ve surely no occasion to bear ill-will to a man you floored so neatly. Shake hands.”
The familiarity, not to say insolence, of this proposal, from one so much beneath him, would probably have induced the youth to turn aside with scorn, but the flattering reference to his pugilistic powers from one who was no mean antagonist softened his feelings.
“Well, I’m sure that I bear you no ill-will,” he said, with a smile, extending his hand.
“Bah! chicken-livers,” exclaimed the small boy, turning away in supreme contempt.
“And I assure you,” continued Aspel, “I had no intention of doing you injury. But no doubt a stout fellow like you didn’t let a knock-down blow interfere with his next day’s work.”
“His next day’s work!” repeated Mr Bones, with a chuckle. “It would be a queer blow as would interfere with my work. Why, guv’nor, I hain’t got no work at all” Here he put on a very lugubrious expression. “P’r’aps you won’t believe it, sir, but I do assure you that I haven’t, in them hard times, had a full day’s work for ever so long. And I haven’t earned a rap this day, except the penny I got for postin’ this here letter.”
George Aspel, besides being, as we have said, a kind-hearted man, was unusually ignorant of the ways of the world, especially the world of London. He believed Abel Bones at once, and spoke in quite a softened, friendly tone as he replied—
“I’m sorry to hear that, and would gladly help you if I could, but, to tell you the truth, Mr Bones, I’m not in flourishing circumstances myself. Still, I may perhaps think of some way of helping you. Post your letter, and I’ll walk with you while we talk over it.”