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"You're dainty, that's wot you are. Look at the others look how they're eating theirs!" At this hint the others came out of their bunks and fell to, and the "Bruiser" became affable. "It's wonderful wot I can turn my 'and to," he remarked pleasantly. "Things come natural to me that other men have to learn. You 'd better put a bit of raw beef on that eye o' yours, Sam."
On his way to the table the man who had struck Sucatash down, called loudly for another bottle of liquor, and one of the red-shirted men behind the bar left his place to bring it to them. The burly bruiser sat down beside Solange with every appearance of self-satisfaction. He leered at her as though expecting her to flame at his prowess. But she gave no heed to him.
All at once Teddy let drive a short-arm blow at the head of the baboon. Few things could withstand that blow, and least of all a baboon. It landed fairly on the grinning jaws and Bruiser's head jolted backwards as if it were going right on into the river. Teddy lost his balance, aided in this by the fact that Bruiser had fastened to the lad's pajamas. "They're going to fall!" roared Mr. Sparling.
The "Bruiser," with a happy smile on his face, surveyed the scene, sniffing with joy the smell of the land as it came fresh and sweet from the hills at the back of the town. There was only one thing wanting to complete his happiness the skipper. "Where's the cap'n?" he demanded of Dowse, who was methodically coiling a line. "Just gone 'ome," replied Dowse shortly.
When a consumptive colonial was sent to take his place, he beat him up with his fists and sent him off a wreck in the schooner that brought him. Mr. Haveby next selected a young Yorkshire giant to relieve Bunster. The Yorkshire man had a reputation as a bruiser and preferred fighting to eating. But Bunster wouldn't fight.
"You don't seem to know who I am," he said. I confessed my ignorance. "Well," he said, "I'm Connelly, the prize fighter!" "Then you're what your profession calls a 'bruiser'." "Sure!" he replied. "Probably you are not aware, Mr. Connelly, that the Bible has something to say about bruisers."
It brought down on my head the curses of a good many men in the mess, but especially of one man who was a sort of a ship's bruiser. It came his turn to be cook about once in ten days. The cook of the mess had as his perquisite a little of each man's ration of rum. With the others, the abuse was mixed with good-humour, for on the whole I managed to lead a fairly agreeable life with my messmates.
He hurled the bottle, still half full of ale, at his antagonist, missed him by the fraction of an inch and sent the missile caroming against the Bruiser's ear, thence down among a pyramid of glasses. There was a shivering tinkle; then the roar as of a maddened bull. The Bruiser charged. Windham shot twice into the air and fled.
That was hardly the line of conduct that would have suggested itself to two lawless prize-fighters. An attempt had been made to prejudice the prisoner Byron by the statement that he was a notorious professional bruiser. But no proof of that was forthcoming; and if the fact were really notorious there could be no difficulty in proving it. Such notoriety as Mr.
His pen was always ready to defend a straightforward bruiser, with whom, he contended, the Roman gladiator and the Spanish bull-fighter were not to be compared.
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