“Be the three minnuts past?” he said. “I’m afraid so,” said the other. The boy got to his feet, sniffing, and, without uttering a word, began rolling down and buttoning his shirt sleeves. “There’s a good hot dinner waiting for you inside,” said Mr. Sant. “Come now, and do the man’s part by it and by us!” Still he would not speak; but shook his head sullenly, and, fetching his coat and cap, walked off. “Humoursome, humoursome!” said old Jacob. “Let en go for a warmint.” “No,” said Mr. Sant, rather wistfully. “He’s got the stuff in him. We’ll have him on our side yet, Richard.” CHAPTER X. FRIENDS AT LAST. When I had been washed, and my cuts and bruises salved, Mr. Sant took me in to dinner, having already sent a message to my uncle that I should be late. I was horribly stiff, with blubber lips, and knobs and swellings everywhere; yet I would not for the world have missed one pang which my jaws suffered in eating. For was not each twinge an earnest to me that I was redeemed in my own eyes? The penance was as gratifying as, I think, a Catholic’s must be after confession and absolution given. Before we were well finished Uncle Jenico came in, a little flurried and apologetic over his intrusion. He had guessed pretty well the reason of my detention, and his anxiety would not let him rest. His hands trembled as he adjusted his spectacles to look at me, and removed and wiped them, and put them on again for a second scrutiny. “So you have conquered?” he said, “My poor boy; my poor, dear boy! Why I had no idea boxing punished so. You should not have minded what they said about me, Richard--a tough old rascal, and ready to take it all in the day’s luck.” “I don’t think Richard will agree with you, sir,” said Mr. Sant. “He has won his spurs, and a convert, I hope. He has fought like a gentleman and a Christian--by George, sir, it was poor Broughton and the Norwich butcher over again--and you, I am sure, are as proud of him as I am.” “Eh?” said my uncle, half laughing and half crying; and then falling suddenly grave. “If it’s to inculcate respect--the stitch in time, you know--certainly. But I can’t help wondering, if this is the victor, what is the state of the vanquished?” “A state of grace, I hope,” said the clergyman, smiling. “But it’s a very proper reflection, sir, and one which, I am sure, Richard will take to heart.” The reminder, nevertheless, was not out of place. It is well at the feast of triumph to remember who pays the cost. I had been self-glorifying a little overmuch; and here, of a sudden, was the picture before me of my beaten enemy slinking away to hide his battered face, at the very moment that I was crowing to everybody to come and look at mine. Uncle Jenico was the true gentleman among us all; and it was he who had been insulted.