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The disrespect is the same; white men are white men. Oh, they cheer while I beat another man to a bloody pulp in the ring, but none of ‘em would have a drink with me afterward no matter how much money I’d just won them.
It’s a different kind of racism here. More of the disdain and mockery lots of ‘em feel for any Yank – and less of the lynch-mob type that’s always simmering under that star-spangled flag that explodes at one wrong word or unsmiling face. Coppers are the same, though – fast enough with the stick and the ugly words on both sides of the Atlantic.
Mr. Stockdale’s a bastard, we all are, but he’s fair – black or white, he pays all his hired muscle the same wages. Got a nasty sense of humor, too, and the sharp memory of someone who can’t read. Which is why he’ll sometimes sic me on some bloke – some fellow, ugh, my language is becoming more English than American – who needs a beating, and who was heard cussing out the worthless Negro boxer who’d cost him his wages (“And that ain’t the word he used, neither”).
I thought Sherlock Holmes would be different. But I heard the contempt in his voice, and the words he used. A fine English gentleman – and still a bigot.