The pugilist, tall and majestic, and proud of his numerous scars, was
telling of foreign, domestic, and all kinds of Homeric wars. His
hearers were standing before him in attitudes speaking of awe, for what
could they do but adore him, the man with the prognathous jaw?
"My make-up," he said, "rather queer is, I've never seen others that
way; I simply don't know what a fear is; I really rejoice in the fray,
I guess I'm the champion glarer, my glance seems to wilt all my foes;
I've seen fellows crumple with terror before we had got down to blows.
This made me so often the victor; no qualms in my bosom I feel; I don't
fear a boa constrictor--my heart is an engine of steel."
[Illustration: The Conqueror]
And so of his feats superhuman he talked in a voice ringing loud, until
a small, fiery-eyed woman came elbowing up through the crowd. Her
voice, like her person, was spindling, but Hercules heard when she
called: "Come home, now, and cut up some kindling, or I will be
snatching you bald!" No more of his triumphs he lilted, like Spartacus
spieling in Rome; the steel hearted warrior wilted, and followed his
conquerer home.