Make me
angry now if you can."
"There is not the slightest reason for anger," said Mrs. Byron,
angry herself. "Your temper seems to have become ungovernable--or,
rather, to have remained so; for it was never remarkable for
sweetness."
"No," retorted Cashel, jeering good-humoredly. "Not the slightest
occasion to lose my temper! Not when I am told that I am silly and
low! Why, I think you must fancy that you're talking to your little
Cashel, that blessed child you were so fond of. But you're not.
You're talking--now for a screech, Miss Carew!--to the champion of
Australia, the United States, and England, holder of three silver
belts and one gold one (which you can have to wear in 'King John' if
you think it'll become you); professor of boxing to the nobility and
gentry of St. James's, and common prize-fighter to the whole globe,
without reference to weight or color, for not less than five hundred
pounds a side. That's Cashel Byron."
Mrs. Byron recoiled, astounded. After a pause she said, "Oh, Cashel,
how COULD you?" Then, approaching him again, "Do you mean to say
that you go out and fight those great rough savages?"
"Yes, I do."
"And that you BEAT them?"
"Yes. Ask Miss Carew how Billy Paradise looked after standing before
me for an hour.
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