Joe reached out very suddenly, and picking up the old man, armchair and all, shook him to and fro until he croaked for mercy.

“Lor’ gorramighty!” he panted, as Joe set him down again.

“Fat, am I?” demanded Joe, scowling.

“Fat as a ‘og—­fat as forty bloomin’ ’ogs!” cried the old man vindictively.  “An’ what’s more, your wind’s all gone—­you couldn’t go five rounds wi’ a good ’un!”

“Couldn’t I?”

“No!” shrieked the Old Un, “you’d be ‘anging on an’ blowing like a grampus!”

“Should I?”

“Ah—­like a grampus!”

“Right-o!” nodded Joe, turning away, “no jam for your tea to-night.”

“Eh, what—­what, would ye rob a pore old man of ’is jam, Joe—­a pore afflicted old cove as is dependent on ye ‘and an’ fut, Joe—­a pore old gaffer as you’ve just shook up to that degree as ’is pore old liver is a-bobbin’ about in ’is innards like a jelly.  Joe, ye couldn’t be so ’eartless!”

“Ah, but I can!” nodded Joe.  “An’ if ye give me any more lip, it’ll be no sugar in ye tea—­”

“No sugar!” wailed the Old Un, then clenching a trembling old fist, he shook it in Joe’s scowling face.  “Then dang ye—­three times!” he cried.  “What’s the old song say?

“’Dang the man with three times three
 Who in ’is ’eathen rage
 Can ’arm a ’armless man like me
 Who’s ‘ead is bowed wi’ age!’

“An’ there’s for ye.  Now listen again: 

“‘Some men is this an’ some is that,
 But ’ere’s a truth I know: 
 A fightin’ cove who’s run to fat
 Is bound t’ puff an’ blow!’

“An’ there’s for ye again!”

Saying which, the Old Un nodded ferociously and proceeded to light his fragmentary pipe.  During this colloquy Ravenslee had laid by his shabby clothes and now appeared clad and shod for the ring.

“Sir,” said Joe, taking a set of gloves from a locker, “if you are ready to box a round or so—­”

“Why, no,” answered Ravenslee, “I don’t want to box to-day, Joe.”

“Eh?” said Joe, staring, “not?”

“I want to fight, Joe.”

“To—­fight, sir?” repeated Joe.

“Fight?” cried the Old Un rapturously.  “Oh, music—­sweet music t’ me old ears!  Fight?  Oh, j’yful words!  What’s the old song say?

“’’Appy is the first as goes
 To black a eye or punch a nose!’”

“Get the mufflers on, Joe; get ’em on an’ don’t stand staring like a fool!”

“But, sir,” said Joe, his mild eyes kindling, “d’ ye mean as you want—­the real thing?”

“To-day,” said Ravenslee, “instead of boxing a round or two with Joe Madden, my chauffeur and mechanic, I want to see how long I can stand up to Joe Madden, undefeated champion of the world.”

Joe’s lean cheek flushed and he looked Ravenslee over with eyes of yearning; noted the thin flanks and slender legs that showed speed, the breadth of shoulder and long arms that spoke strength, and the deep, arched chest that showed endurance; Joe looked and sighed and shook his head.