“You see, sir,” said Mrs. Makebelieve, “that you were mistaken in your opinion. My daughter is not old enough yet to be thinking of marriage and suchlike. Children do be thoughtless. I am sorry for all the trouble she has given you, and”—a sudden compunction stirred her, for the man was standing up now, and there was no trace of Mrs. O’Connor visible in him; his face was as massive and harsh as a piece of wall. “Don’t you be thinking too badly of us now,” said Mrs. Makebelieve, with some agitation; “the child is too young altogether to be asking her to marry. Maybe in a year or two—I said things, I know, but I was vexed, and …”
The big man nodded his head and marched out.
Mary ran to her mother, moaning like a sick person, but Mrs. Makebelieve did not look at her. She lay down on the bed and turned her face to the wall, and she did not speak to Mary for a long time.
XXXI
When the young man who lodged with Mrs. Cafferty came in on the following day he presented a deplorable appearance. His clothes were torn and his face had several large strips of sticking-plaster on it, but he seemed to be in a mood of extraordinary happiness notwithstanding, and proclaimed that he had participated in the one really great fight of his lifetime, that he wasn’t injured at all, and that he wouldn’t have missed it for a pension.
Mrs. Cafferty was wild with indignation, and marched him into Mrs. Makebelieve’s room, where he had again to tell his story and have his injuries inspected and commiserated. Even Mr. Cafferty came into the room on this occasion. He was a large, slow man, dressed very comfortably in a red beard—his beard was so red and so persistent that it quite overshadowed the rest of his wrappings and did, indeed, seem to clothe him. As he stood the six children walked in and out of his legs, and stood on his feet in their proper turns without causing him any apparent discomfort. During the young man’s recital Mr. Cafferty every now and then solemnly and powerfully smote his left hand with his right fist, and requested that the aggressor should be produced to him.
The young man said that as he was coming home the biggest man in the world walked up to him. He had never set eyes on the man before in his life, and thought at first he wanted to borrow a match or ask the way to somewhere, or something like that, and, accordingly, he halted; but the big man gripped him by the shoulder and said, “You damned young whelp!” and then he laughed and hit him a tremendous blow with his other hand. He twisted himself free at that, and said, “What’s that for?” and then the big man made another desperate clout at him. A fellow wasn’t going to stand that kind of thing, so he let out at him with his left, and then jumped in with two short arm jabs that must have tickled the chap; that fellow didn’t have it all his own way anyhow … The young man exhibited his knuckles, which were skinned and bleeding, as evidence of some exchange; but, he averred, you might as well be punching a sack of coal as that man’s face. In another minute they both slipped and rolled over and over in the road, hitting and kicking as they sprawled: then a crowd of people ran forward and pulled them asunder. When they were separated he saw the big man lift his fist, and the person who was holding him ducked suddenly and ran for his life: the other folk got out of the way too, and the big man walked over to where he stood and stared into his face. His jaw was stuck out like the seat of a chair, and his moustache was like a bristle of barbed wire. The young man said to him, “What the hell’s wrong with you to go bashing a man for nothing at all?” and all of a sudden the big fellow turned and walked away. It was a grand fight altogether, said the youth, but the other man was a mile and a half too big for him.
As this story proceeded Mrs. Makebelieve looked once or twice at her daughter. Mary’s face had gone very pale, and she nodded back a confirmation of her mother’s conjecture; but it did not seem necessary or wise to either of them that they should explain their thoughts. The young man did not require either condolences or revenge. He was well pleased at an opportunity to measure his hardihood against a worthy opponent. He had found that his courage exceeded his strength, as it always should—for how could we face the gods and demons of existence if our puny arms were not backed up by our invincible eyes?—and he displayed his contentment at the issue as one does a banner emblazoned with merits. Mrs. Makebelieve understood also that the big man’s action was merely his energetic surrender, as of one who, instead of tendering his sword courteously to the victor, hurls it at him with a malediction; and that in assaulting their friend he was bidding them farewell as heartily and impressively as he was able. So they fed the young man and extolled him, applauding to the shrill winding of his trumpet until he glowed again in the full satisfaction of heroism.
He and Mary did not discontinue their evening walks. Of these Mrs. Makebelieve was fully cognisant, and although she did not remark on the fact, she had been observing the growth of their intimacy with a care which was one part approval and one part pain; for it was very evident to her that her daughter was no
