“Sir,” said he, “I honour and respect you to that degree as it would be a joy to fight such a man as you and a rare privilege t’ knock you down—but, sir, if I was to knock ye down—”
“You’d earn a five-dollar bill.”
“Five dollars—for knockin’ you down, sir?”
“Every time!” nodded Ravenslee.
“But Lord, sir—”
“Shut up, Joe, shut up,” snarled the Old Un, hopping out of the armchair. “Don’t gape like a perishin’ fish; come on up-stairs an’ knock the Guv’nor down like ‘e tells ye—an’ ’arves on the money, mind; it was me as taught ye all you know or ever will, so ’arves on the money, Joe, ’arves on the money. Come on, Joe—d’j ’ear?”
“Crumbs!” said Joe.
“Look at ’im. Guv—look at ’im!” shrieked the old man, dancing to and fro in his impatience, “’ere’s a chance for ’im to earn a pore old cove a bit o’ ‘bacca money, an’, what’s better still, t’ show a pore old fightin’ man a bit o’ real sport—an’ there ’e stands, staring like a perishing pork pig! Blimy, Guv, get behind an’ ’elp me to shove ’im up-stairs.”
“But, crikey, sir!” said Joe, “five dollars every time I—”
“Yus, yus, you bloomin’ hadjective—two dollars fifty for each of us! ’Urry up, oh, ’urry up afore ’e changes ‘is mind an’ begins to ’edge.”
So Joe follows his “Guv’nor” and the Old Un up a flight of stairs and into a large chamber fitted as a gymnasium, where are four roped and padded posts socketed into the floor; close by is a high-backed armchair in which the Old Un seats himself with an air of heavy portent.
But when Joe would have ducked under the ropes, the Old Un stayed him with an imperious gesture, and, clambering into the ring, advanced to the centre and bowed gravely as if to a countless multitude.
“Gentlemen,” he piped in his shrill old voice, “I take pleasure to introduce Joe Madden, undefeated ‘eavyweight champion o’ the world, an’ the Guv—both members of this club an’ both trained by me, Jack Bowser, once lightweight champion of England an’ hall the Americas. Gentlemen, it will be a fight to a finish—Markis o’ Queensberry rules. Gentlemen—I thank ye.” Having said which, the Old Un bowed again, gravely stepped from the ring, and ensconcing himself in the armchair, drew out a large and highly ornate watch, while Ravenslee and Joe vaulted over the ropes.
Behold them facing each other, the brown-skinned fighting man wise in ringcraft and champion of a hundred fights, and the white-fleshed athlete, each alike clean and bright of eye, light-poised of foot, quivering for swift action, while the Old Un looks needfully from one to the other, watch in one bony hand, the other upraised.
“Get ready!” he croaked. “Go!”
Comes immediately a quick, light tread of rubber-soled feet and the flash of white arms as they circle about and about, feinting, watchful and wary. Twice Ravenslee’s fist shoots out and twice is blocked by Joe’s open glove, and once he ducks a vicious swing and lands a half-arm jolt that makes Joe grin and stagger, whereat the Old Un, standing upon his chair, hugs himself in an ecstasy, and forgetful of such small matters as five-dollar bills, urges, prays, beseeches, and implores the Guv to “wallop the blighter on the p’int, to stab ’im on the mark, and to jolt ’im in the kidney-pit.”