He took very
little notice of the demonstration and walked in, when there arose
a babel of howls. He turned round and came out again, facing the
crowd. I can see him now, all splashed and muddy, with his shirt
open at the neck. He was pale, ugly, and sinister; but he surveyed
us all with entire effrontery, drew out a pince-nez, being very
short-sighted, and then looked calmly round as if surprised. I have
certainly never seen such an exhibition of courage in my life. He
knew that he had not a single friend present, and he did not know
that he would not be maltreated--there were indications of a rush
being made. He did not look in the least picturesque; he was ugly,
scowling, offensive. But he did not care a rap, and if he had been
attacked, he would have defended himself with a will. It did not
occur to me then, nor did it, I think, occur to anyone else, what
an amazing bit of physical and moral courage it was. No one, then
or after, had the slightest feeling of admiration for his pluck.
"Did you ever see such a brute as P-- looked?" was the only sort
of comment made.
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