“Looks better,” Clay agreed. “But when I have the fellows down, it seems prudent to see that they don’t get up again too soon.”
Miss Dexter studied him. Admitting that modesty would have become him better, she did not believe he was boasting at random. There was power in the man, though she imagined he did not often use it well. She disliked his principles, and he frequently repelled her, but sometimes she felt attracted. He had, she thought, a better side than the one he generally showed.
“Does it never pay to be merciful?” she asked.
“Very seldom. In my line of business you have, as a rule, to break or be broken hard. It’s a hard fight. I keep the rules of the ring. Sometimes they’re pretty liberally interpreted, but if you go too far, you get hustled out and disqualified. In this country the stakes are high, but I’ve been through the hardest training since I was a boy, and I’ve got to win.” He paused with a glance toward Aynsley. “Sounds pretty egotistical, doesn’t it? But I know my powers, and I can’t be stopped.”
His forceful air gave him a touch of dignity and redeemed the crude daring of his boast. Osborne looked at him curiously, but Miss Dexter felt half daunted. She thought his attitude grossly defiant; the inordinate pride he showed would bring its punishment.
“It sounds very rash,” she said. “You don’t know what you may have to contend with.”
“I’ve some suspicion; but there comes a time, often after years of struggle, when a man knows he has only to hold on and win the game. Curious, isn’t it? But he does know, and sets his teeth as he braces himself for the effort that’s going to give him the prize.”
He spoke with vehemence, the color darkening in his face. Miss Dexter wondered whether the last glass of whisky and potass had gone to his head; but the flush suddenly faded and his lips turned blue. Osborne was the first to notice it. Jumping up, he grabbed Clay by the arms and shoved him toward the nearest chair. Clay fell into it heavily, and began fumbling at his vest pocket, but he soon let his hand drop in a nerveless manner. The next moment Aynsley was at his side. The hall was large, and the boy had been sitting some distance off, but he did not run and he made no noise. He had inherited his father’s swiftness of action, and Ruth, following in alarm, noticed the lithe grace of his movements. The girl’s impressions were, however, somewhat blurred, and it was not until afterward that the scene fixed itself vividly in her mind.