. Billing, with cold dignity, as he paused at the
door--"I dare say I may give up beer altogether."

He stood outside pondering over the unforeseen difficulties attendant
upon his new career, moving a few inches to one side as Mr. 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. Billing. "I wouldn't hit
'im back for anything. I should turn the other cheek."

"Whaffor?" inquired the amazed Mr. Ricketts.

"For another swipe," said Mr. Billing, radiantly.

In the fraction of a second he got the first, and reeled back staggering.
The onlookers from the bar came out hastily. Mr. Ricketts, somewhat
pale, stood his ground.

"You see, I don't hit you," said Mr. Billing, with a ghastly attempt at a
smile.

He stood rubbing his cheek gently, and, remembering Mr. Purnip's
statements, slowly, inch by inch, turned the other in the direction of
his adversary. The circuit was still incomplete when Mr. Ricketts,
balancing himself carefully, fetched it a smash that nearly burst it.
Mr. Billing, somewhat jarred by his contact with the pavement, rose
painfully and confronted him.

"I've only got two cheeks, mind," he said, slowly.

Mr. Ricketts sighed. "I wish you'd got a blinking dozen," he said,
wistfully. "Well, so long. Be good."

He walked into the Blue Lion absolutely free from that sense of shame
which Mr. Purnip had predicted, and, accepting a pint from an admirer,
boasted noisily of his exploit. Mr. Billing, suffering both mentally and
physically, wal