the words which have fallen from you; what sort of vile, pitiless man do you think I would take you for?"
"No doubt"—with a grin—"some such pitiless man as has lost his piety in much the same way that the jockey loses his honesty."
"And how is that, friend?" still conscientiously holding back the old Adam in him, as if it were a mastiff he had by the neck.
"Never you mind how it is"—with a sneer; "but all horses aint virtuous, no more than all men kind; and come close to, and much dealt with, some things are catching. When you find me a virtuous jockey, I will find you a benevolent wise man."
"Some insinuation there."
"More fool you that are puzzled by it."
"Reprobate!" cried the other, his indignation now at last almost boiling over; "godless reprobate! if charity did not restrain me, I could call you by names you deserve."
"Could you, indeed?" with an insolent sneer.
"Yea, and teach you charity on the spot," cried the goaded Methodist, suddenly catching this exasperating opponent by his shabby coat-collar, and shaking him till his timber-toe clattered on the deck like a nine-pin. "You took me for a non-combatant did you? thought, seedy coward that you are, that you could abuse a Christian with impunity. You find your mistake"—with another hearty shake.
"Well said and better done, church militant!" cried a voice.
