A brother hostler ran out from the stables and gave a cry of astonishment.
"You'd better wipe his face," said the young man curtly.
The newcomer hurried back towards the stables.
"Vait a moment," said Sleepy Sol "I can sell you a sponge sheap; I've got a beauty in my bag." There were plenty of sponges about, but the newcomer bought the second-hand sponge.
"Do you want any more ?" the young man affably inquired of his prostrate adversary.
The hostler gave a groan.

He was shamed before a friend whom he had early convinced of his fistic superiority.
"No, I reckon he don't," said his friend, with a knowing grin at the conqueror.
"Then I will wish you a good day," said the young man.

"Come along, father." "Yes, ma son-in-law," said Sleepy Sol.
"Do you know who that was, Joe ?" said his friend, as he sponged away the blood.
Joe shook his head.
"That was Dutch Sam," said his friend in an awe-struck whisper.
All Joe's body vibrated with surprise and respect.

Dutch Sam was the champion bruiser of his time; in private life an eminent dandy and a prime favorite of His Majesty George IV., and Sleepy Sol had a beautiful daughter and was perhaps prepossessing himself when washed for the Sabbath.
"Dutch Sam!" Joe repeated.
"Dutch Sam! Why, we've got his picter hanging up inside, only he's naked to the waist." "Well, strike me lucky! What a fool I was not to rekkernize 'im!" His battered face brightened up.

"No wonder he licked me!" Except for the comparative infrequency of the more bestial types of men and women, Judaea has always been a cosmos in little, and its prize-fighters and scientists, its philosophers and "fences," its gymnasts and money-lenders, its scholars and stockbrokers, its musicians, chess-players, poets, comic singers, lunatics, saints, publicans, politicians, warriors, poltroons, mathematicians, actors, foreign correspondents, have always been in the first rank.