“Oh, we’ve plenty of cake, Old Un!” laughed Ravenslee.

“An’ water cress an’ jam!” nodded Mrs. Trapes.

“Guv,” said the old man, gripping Ravenslee’s hand, “God bless ye for a true man an’ a noble sport.  Ma’am, you’re a angel!  Jam, ma’am—­you’re a nymp’—­you’re two nymp’s—­

“‘I oft would cast a rovin’ eye
 Ere these white ’airs I grew, ma’am,
 To see a ‘andsome nymp’ go by,
 But none s’ fair as you, ma’am.’

“An’ there’s me hand on it, ma’am.”

“My land!” ejaculated Mrs. Trapes, staring; then all at once she laughed, a strange laugh that came and went again immediately, yet left her features a little less grim than usual, as, reaching out, she grasped the old man’s feeble hand.

“I guess you’re only bein’ p’lite,” said she, “but jest for that you’re sure goin’ t’ eat as much cake an’ jam as your small insides can hold.”  So saying, she led the way into her small and very neat domain and ushered them into the bright little parlour where the Spider sat already enthroned in that armchair whereon sunflowers rioted.  Like the chair, the Spider was somewhat exotic as to socks and tie, and he seemed a trifle irked by stiff cuffs and collar as he sat staring at the green and yellow tablecloth and doing his best not to tread upon the pink hearthrug.

“Joe,” said Ravenslee, “this is Spider Connolly, who knocked out Larry McKinnon at San Francisco last year in the sixty-ninth.  Spider, I want you to shake hands with—­”

“Bo,” exclaimed the Spider, rising reverently and taking a step toward Joe’s massive figure, quite forgetful of the pink hearthrug now, “you don’t have t’ tell me nothin’.  I guess I know th’ best all-round fightin’ man, the greatest champion as ever swung a mitt, when I see him!  T’ shake his hand’ll sure be—­”

“Young feller, me lad,” cried the Old Un, reaching out nimbly and catching the Spider’s extended hand, “you got a sharp eye, a true eye—­a eye as can discrimpinate, like—­ah, like a flash o’ light.  You’re right, me lad, I was the best fightin’ man, the greatest champeen as ever was—­sixty odd years ago.  Ho, yus, I were the best of ’em all, an’ I ain’t t’ be sniffed at now.  So shake me ‘and, me lad—­an’ shake—­hard!”

The Spider’s grim jaw relaxed, and his eyes opened very wide as the Old Un continued to shake his hand up and down.

“But, say,” said he faintly at last, “I don’t—­”

“No more don’t I,” nodded the Old Un, “what’s the old song say: 

“’I don’t care if it rains or snows
 Or what the day may be
 Since ’ere’s a truth I plainly knows
 Love, you’ll remember me.’”

“But say,” began the bewildered Spider again.  “Say, I reckon—­”

“So do I,” nodded the Old Un: 

“‘I reckon up my years o’ life
 An’ a good long life ’ave I.
 Ye see, I never had a wife,
 P’raps that’s the reason why.’

“So take it from me, young feller, me cove, don’t ‘ave nothin’ to do with givin’ or takin’ in marriage.”