had met in the arena. Two or three Give and Takes with tight coat sleeves drew nearer.
“One moment, Mr. O’Sullivan,” said Dempsey. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself. Where did you say you lived?”
The two gladiators were well matched. Dempsey had, perhaps, ten pounds of weight to give away. The O’Sullivan had breadth with quickness. Dempsey had a glacial eye, a dominating slit of a mouth, an indestructible jaw, a complexion like a belle’s and the coolness of a champion. The visitor showed more fire in his contempt and less control over his conspicuous sneer. They were enemies by the law written when the rocks were molten. They were each too splendid, too mighty, too incomparable to divide pre-eminence. One only must survive.
“I live on Grand,” said O’Sullivan, insolently; “and no trouble to find me at home. Where do you live?”
Dempsey ignored the question.
“You say your name’s O’Sullivan,” he went on. “Well, ‘Big Mike’ says he never saw you before.”
“Lots of things he never saw,” said the favourite of the hop.
“As a rule,” went on Dempsey, huskily sweet, “O’Sullivans in this district know one another. You
[75]
