The rough expressed his repudiation of this counsel by beginning to
strip energetically. A thrill of delight passed through the crowd.
Those who had bad places pressed forward, and those who formed the
inner ring pressed back to make room for the combatants. Lydia, who
occupied a coveted position close to Cashel, hoped to be hustled out
of the throng; for she was beginning to feel faint and ill. But a
handsome butcher, who had made his way to her side, gallantly swore
that she should not be deprived of her place in the front row, and
bade her not be frightened, assuring her that he would protect her,
and that the fight would be well worth seeing. As he spoke, the mass
of faces before Lydia seemed to give a sudden lurch. To save herself
from falling, she slipped her arm through the butcher's; and he,
much gratified, tucked her close to him, and held her up
effectually. His support was welcome, because it was needed.

Meanwhile, Cashel stood motionless, watching with unrelenting
contempt the movements of his adversary, who rolled up his
discolored shirt-sleeves amid encouraging cries of "Go it, Teddy,"
"Give it 'im, Ted," and other more precise suggestions. But Teddy's
spirit was chilled; be advanced with a presentiment that he was
courting destruction. He dared not rush on his foe, whose eye seemed
to discern his impotence. When at last he ventured to strike, the
blow fell short, as Cashel evidently knew it would; for he did not
stir. There was a laugh and a murmur of impatience in the crowd.

"Are you waiting for the copper to come and separate you?" shouted
the butcher. "Come out of your corner and get to work, can't you?"

This reminder that the police might balk him of his prey seemed to
move Cashel. He took a step forward. The excitement of the crowd