“Will you bet two to one that I don’t stay out all night and knock the Flying Dutchman out of time in the first round afterwards? Eh?” “Come,” said Mellish, coaxingly; “have some common-sense. I’m advising you for your good.” “Suppose I don’t want to be advised for my good. Eh? Hand me over that lemon. You needn’t start a speech; I’m not going to eat it.” “Blest if he ain’t rubbing his ‘ands with it!” exclaimed Mellish, after watching him for some moments. “Why, you bloomin’ fool, lemon won’t ‘arden your ‘ands. Ain’t I took enough trouble with them?” “I want to whiten them,” said Cashel, impatiently throwing the lemon under the grate; “but it’s no use; I can’t go about with my fists like a nigger’s. I’ll go up to London to-morrow and buy a pair of gloves.” “What! Real gloves? Wearin’ gloves?” “You thundering old lunatic,” said Cashel, rising and putting on his hat; “is it likely that I want a pair of mufflers? Perhaps YOU think you could teach me something with them. Ha! ha! By-the-bye--now mind this, Mellish--don’t let it out down here that I’m a fighting man. Do you hear?” “Me let it out!” cried Mellish, indignantly. “Is it likely? Now, I asts you, Cashel Byron, is it likely?” “Likely or not, don’t do it,” said Cashel. “You might get talking with some of the chaps about the castle stables. They are generous with their liquor when they can get sporting news for it.” Mellish looked at him reproachfully, and Cashel turned towards the door. This movement changed the trainer’s sense of injury into anxiety. He renewed his remonstrances as to the folly of venturing into the night air, and cited many examples of pugilists who had suffered defeat in consequence of neglecting the counsel of their trainers. Cashel expressed his disbelief in these anecdotes in brief and personal terms; and at last Mellish had to content himself with proposing to limit the duration of the walk to half an hour. “Perhaps I will come back in half an hour,” said Cashel, “and perhaps I won’t.” “Well, look here,” said Mellish; “we won’t quarrel about a minute or two; but I feel the want of a walk myself, and I’ll come with you.” “I’m d--d if you shall,” said Cashel. “Here, let me out; and shut up. I’m not going further than the park. I have no intention of making a night of it in the village, which is what you are afraid of. I know you, you old dodger. If you don’t get out of my way I’ll seat you on the fire.” “But duty, Cashel, duty,” pleaded Mellish, persuasively. “Every man oughter do his duty. Consider your duty to your backers.” “Are you going to get out of my way, or must I put you out of it?” said Cashel, reddening ominously. Mellish went back to his chair, bowed his head on his hands, and wept. “I’d sooner be a dog nor a trainer,” he exclaimed. “Oh! the cusseduess of bein’ shut up for weeks with a fightin’ man! For the fust two days they’re as sweet as treacle; and then their con trairyness comes out. Their tempers is puffict ‘ell.”