The hostler gave a groan. He was shamed before a friend whom he had early convinced of his fistic superiority. "No, I reckon he don't," said his friend, with a knowing grin at the conqueror. "Then I will wish you a good day," said the young man. "Come along, father." "Yes, ma son-in-law," said Sleepy Sol. "Do you know who that was, Joe?" said his friend, as he sponged away the blood. Joe shook his head. "That was Dutch Sam," said his friend in an awe-struck whisper. All Joe's body vibrated with surprise and respect. Dutch Sam was the champion bruiser of his time; in private life an eminent dandy and a prime favorite of His Majesty George IV., and Sleepy Sol had a beautiful daughter and was perhaps prepossessing himself when washed for the Sabbath. "Dutch Sam!" Joe repeated. "Dutch Sam! Why, we've got his picter hanging up inside, only he's naked to the waist." "Well, strike me lucky! What a fool I was not to rekkernize 'im!" His battered face brightened up. "No wonder he licked me!" Except for the comparative infrequency of the more bestial types of men and women, Judaea has always been a cosmos in little, and its prize-fighters and scientists, its philosophers and "fences," its gymnasts and money-lenders, its scholars and stockbrokers, its musicians, chess-players, poets, comic singers, lunatics, saints, publicans, politicians, warriors, poltroons, mathematicians, actors, foreign correspondents, have always been in the first rank. _Nihil alienum a se Judaeus putat_. Joe and his friend fell to recalling Dutch Sam's great feats. Each out-vied the other in admiration for the supreme pugilist. Next day Sleepy Sol came rampaging down the courtyard. He walked at the rate of five miles to the hour, and despite the weight of his bag his head pointed to the zenith. "Clo'!" he shrieked. "Clo'!" Joe the hostler came out. His head was bandaged, and in his hand was gold lace. It was something even to do business with a hero's father-in-law.