“Well done, Horish!” [Footnote: The name of a celebrated sweep in Ireland, whose name is applied to the whole.] cried a blackguard, who enjoyed the triumph of his fellow. “Bravo! little fellow,” rejoined a genteel person, who rejoiced in some successful hit of the other combatant. There is an inherent love in men to see a fight, which Edward O'Connor shared with inferior men; and if he had not peeped into the ring, most assuredly Gusty would. What was their astonishment, when they got a glimpse of the pugilists, to perceive Ratty was one of them—his antagonist being a sweep, taller by a head, and no bad hand at the “noble science.”
Edward's first impulse was to separate them, but Gusty requested he would not, saying that he saw by Ratty's eye he was able to “lick the fellow.” Ratty certainly showed great fight; what the sweep had in superior size was equalized by the superior “game” of the gentleman-boy, to whom the indomitable courage of a high-blooded race had descended, and who would sooner have died than yield. Besides, Ratty was not deficient in the use of his “bunch of fives,” hit hard for his size, and was very agile: the sweep sometimes made a rush, grappled, and got a fall; but he never went in without getting something from Ratty to “remember him,” and was not always uppermost. At last, both were so far punished, and the combat not being likely to be speedily ended (for the sweep was no craven), that the bystanders interfered, declaring that “they ought to be separated,” and they were.
While the crowd was dispersing, Edward called a coach; and before Ratty could comprehend how the affair was managed, he was shoved into it and driven from the scene of action. Ratty had a confused sense of hearing loud shouts—of being lifted somewhere—of directions given—the rattle of iron steps clinking sharply—two or three fierce bangs of a door that wouldn't shut, and then an awful shaking, which roused him up from the corner of the vehicle into which he had fallen in the first moment of exhaustion. Ratty “shook his feathers,” dragged his hair from out of his eyes, which were getting very black indeed, and applied his handkerchief to his nose, which was much in need of that delicate attention; and when the sense of perfect vision was restored to him, which was not for some time (all the colours of the rainbow dancing before Ratty's eyes for many seconds after the fight), what was his surprise to see Edward O'Connor and Gusty sitting on the opposite seat!
It was some time before Ratty could quite comprehend his present situation; but as soon as he was made sensible of it, and could answer, the first questions asked of him were about his grandmother. Ratty fortunately remembered the name of the hotel where she put up, though he had left it as soon as the old lady proceeded to the Castle—had lost his way—and got engaged in a quarrel with a sweep in the meantime.
The coach was ordered to drive to the hotel named; and how the fight occurred was the next question.
“The sweep was passing by, and I called him 'snow-ball,'” said Ratty; “and the blackguard returned an impudent answer, and I hit him.”
“You had no right to call him 'snow-ball,'” said Edward.
“I always called the sweeps 'snow-ball' down at the Hall,” said Ratty, “and they never answered.”
“When you are on your own territory you may say what you please to your dependents, Ratty, and they dare not answer; or to use a vulgar saying, 'A cock may crow on his own dunghill.'”
“I'm no dunghill cock!” said Ratty, fiercely.