Rivoli approached.
Ha! There was that cursed Englishman, was he? Well, since he had given his promise to Carmelita and was debarred from a duel, he should repeat his apology of last night before this large assembly. Moreover, he would now be free to handle this English dog—to beat and torture and torment him like a new recruit. Bull's hands would be tied as far as weapons were concerned by his promise to Carmelita.… The dog was leaning against the flap of the bar which he would have to raise to pass through to his dinner. Should he take him by the ears and rub his face in the liquor-slops on the bar, or should he merely put him on the ground and wipe his feet on him? Better not perhaps, there was that thrice-accursed American scelerato and that indestructible young devil Rupert, who had smitten his jaw and ribs so vilely, and wanted to fight again directly he had left hospital and salle de police. The Devil smite all Englishmen.… His wrath boiled over, his arm shot out and he seized John Bull by the collar, shook him, and slung him from his path.
And then the Heavens fell.
With his open, horny palm, the Bucking Bronco smote the Italian as cruelly stinging a slap as ever human face received. But for his friend's recent behest, he would have struck with his closed fist, and the Italian would have entered the fight, if not with a broken jaw, at least with a very badly "rattled" head.
"Ponk!" observed 'Erb, dancing from foot to foot in excitement and glee.
"Ah—h—h!" breathed Carmelita.
