LORD OF MANY SECRETS

FORTY FIVE

"Well, you'd better be thinking of a new one then, for our fights coming on now", retorted Patrick.

"Pooh, your bird don't stand a chance!" scoffed Ferdinand.

The setters-on had the c***s in the arena by this time, and Mr Fritzwa, critically looking them over, declared there to be very little to choose between them. They were well matched; their heads a full scarlet; tails, manes, and wings nicely clipped; and spurs very long and sharp, hooking well inwards. "If anything I like Tellaro's bed the better of the two", pronounced Mr Fritzwa. "He looks devilish upright, and I fancy he's the largest in girth. But there ain't much in it".

The birds did not ogle each other for long. They closed almost at once, and there was some slashing work which made the feathers fly. The brass-back was floored, but came up again, and toed the scratch. Both birds knew how to hold, and their tactics were cunning enough to rouse the enthusiasm of the crowd. The betting was slightly in favor of the grey, which very much delighted Patrick, and made Mr Fritzwa shake his head, and say that saving only his own red pyle he did not know when he had seen a c**k he liked better. Mr Ferdinand did not say anything, but looked at Patrick sideways once or twice and thrust out his under-lip.

The c***s had been fighting for about ten minutes when the brass-back, who had till now adopted more defensive tactics than the grey, suddenly rushed in, striking and slashing in famous style. The grey responded gallantly, and Mr Fritzwa cried out, "the best match pair I ever saw! There they go, slap for slap! I'll lay you any odds the grey wins! No, by God, he's down! Ha, spurs fast again!"

The setters-on having secured their birds, and the brass-back's spurs being released, both were again freed. The grey seemed to be a little dazed, the brass-back hardly less so. Both were bleeding from wounds, and neither seemed anxious to close again with his opponent. They stayed warily apart, ogling each other while the time keeper kept the count, and fifty being reached before either showed any disposition to continue fighting, setting was allowed. The setters-on each took up his bird and brought him to the center of the arena, and placed him beak to beak with the other. The grey was the first to strike, a swift, punishing blow that knocked the brass-back clean away.

A sudden commotion arose amongst the spectators. Mr Ferdinand sprang up, shouting, "A foul! A foul! The grey was squeezed!"

Someone called out, "nonsense! No such thing! Sit down!"

Patrick swung round to stare at Ferdinand. "He was not squeezed! I was watching the whole time, and I'm ready to swear my man did no more than set him!"

The setters-on, pending the referee's decision, had each caught his bird, a lucky circumstance for the brass-back, who seemed to have been badly cut up by the last blow. The referee gave it in favor of the grey, and Mr Fritzwa said testily, "of course the grey was not squeezed! Sit down, man, sit down! Hey, no wonder your c**k's shy! I believe the grey got his eye in that last brush. Parte, that's a rare bird of yours! We'll match him with mine one day, down at my place. Ha, that finishes it! The brass-back's a blinker now - or dead. Dead, I think. Well done, Parte! Well done!"

Mr Ferdinand turned with an ugly look on his face. "Ay, well done indeed! Your c**k was craven, and was squeezed to make him fight".

"Here, I say, Ferdinand, learn to take your losses!" said Mr Fritzwa with strong disapproval.

Patrick, a gathering frown on his boyish countenance, lifted a hand to hush his friend, and fixed his eyes on Ferdinand's. "You can't know what you're saying. If there was a fault the referee should have seen it".

"Oh", said Ferdinand, with a sneer, "when rich men fight their c***s referees can sometimes make mistakes".

It was not said loud enough to carry very far, but it brought Patrick to his feet in a bound. "What!" he cried furiously. "Say that again if you dare!"

Though no one but those immediately beside Ferdinand could have heard his words, it was quite apparent to everyone by this time that an altercation was going on, and the rougher part of the gathering at once began to take sides, some - who had lost their money on the brass-back - loudly asserting that the grey had been squeezed, and others declaring with equal fervor that it had been a fair fight. Above the hubbub a shrill Cockney voice besought Patrick to darken Mr Ferdinand's daylights - advice of which he did not seem to stand in much need, for he was clenching his fists very menacingly already.

Mr Fritzwa, who had also heard Ferdinand's last speech, tried to get between him and Patrick, saying in a brisk voice, "that's enough of this foolery. You're foxed, Ferdinand. Ought to be ashamed of yourself".

"Oh, I'm foxed, am I?" said Ferdinand, keeping his eyes on Patrick's. "I'm not so foxed but what I can see when a bird's pressed to make him fight, and I repeat, Sir Patrick Tellaro, that money can do queer things if you have enough of it".

"Oh, damn!" said Mr Fritzwa, exasperated. "Pay no heed to him, Parte".

Patrick, however, had not waited for this advice. As Mr Fritzwa spoke he drove his left in a smashing blow to Ferdinand's face, and sent that gentleman sprawling over the bench. There were a great many cheers, a shout of "A mill, a mill!" some protests from the quieter members of the audience; and the man in the drab coat, across whose knees Mr Ferdinand had fallen, demanded that the Watchman should be summoned.

Mr Ferdinand picked himself up, and showed the house a bleeding nose. The same voice which had counseled Patrick to strike shouted gleefully, "drawn his cork! Fib him, Gov'nor! Let him have a bit of home brewed!"

Mr Ferdinand held his handkerchief to his nose and said, "my friend will call on yours in the morning, sir! Be good enough to name your man!"

"Fritz?" said Patrick curtly, over his shoulder.

"At your service", replied Mr Fritzwa.

"Mr Fritzwa will act for me, sir", said Patrick, pale but perfectly determined.

"You will hear from me, sir", promised Ferdinand thickly, and strode out, still holding his reddened handkerchief to his nose.

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