Ricketts, a
foe of long standing, came towards the public-house, and, halting a yard
or two away, eyed him warily.
"Come along," said Mr. Billing, speaking somewhat loudly, for the benefit
of the men in the bar; "I sha'n't hurt you; my fighting days are over."
"Yes, I dessay," replied the other, edging away.
"It's all right, Bill," said a mutual friend, through the half-open door;
"he's got a new 'art."
Mr. Ricketts looked perplexed. "'Art disease, d'ye mean?" he inquired,
hopefully. "Can't he fight no more?"
"A new 'art," said Mr. Billing. "It's as strong as ever it was, but it's
changed--brother."
"If you call me 'brother' agin I'll give you something for yourself, and
chance it," said Mr. Ricketts, ferociously. "I'm a pore man, but I've
got my pride."
Mr. Billing, with a smile charged with brotherly love, leaned his left
cheek towards him. "Hit it," he said, gently.
"Give it a smack and run, Bill," said the voice of a well-wisher inside.
"There'd be no need for 'im to run," said Mr.
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