What need is there to tell the numerous feints, the lightning shifts, the different tricks of in-fighting and all the cunning strategy and ringcraft that Joe brought to bear and carefully explained between rounds? Suffice it that at the end of a certain fierce “mix up”, as Ravenslee sat outstretched and panting, the white flesh of arms and broad chest discovered many livid marks and patches that told their tale; also one elbow was grazed and bleeding, and one knee showed signs of contact with the floor.
“Joe,” said he, when his wind was somewhat recovered, “that makes it thirty dollars I owe you, I think?”
“Why, sir,” said Joe, who also showed some slight signs of wear, but whose breathing was soft and regular, “why, sir, you couldn’t call that last one a real knockdown—”
“You ‘m a liar, Joe, a liar!” cried the Old Un. “Blimy, Guv, Joe’s a-tellin’ you crackers, s’ help me—your ‘ands touched the floor, didn’t they?”
“And my knees, too,” nodded Ravenslee, “also my elbow—no, that was last time or the time before.”
“Well, then, tell this lying Joe-lad o’ mine as ‘e surely did knock ye down. Lord, Joe!” cried the Old Un, waxing pathetic, “‘ow can ye go takin’ money from a pore old cove like I be. Joe, I blushes for ye—an’—Time, Time there, both on ye!”
“But we don’t want any more, do we, sir?” enquired Joe.
“Why, yes, I think I can go another round or so.”
“There y’ are, Joe, the Guv’s surely a game cove. So get at it, me lad, an’ try an’ knock it up to fifty dollars —’arves, Joe, mind!”
“But, sir,” began Joe, eyeing the livid blotches on Ravenslee’s white skin, “don’t ye think—”
“Time—oh, Time, Time!” shrieked the Old Un. Whereupon Ravenslee sprang to the centre of the ring, and once again the air resounded with tramp of feet and pant of breath. Twice Ravenslee staggers beneath Joe’s mighty left, but watchful ever and having learned much, Ravenslee keeps away, biding his time—ducks a swing, sidesteps a drive, and blocking a vicious hook—smacks home his long left to Joe’s ribs, rocks him with a swinging uppercut, drives in a lightning left and right, and Joe goes down with a crash.
Even while the Old Un stared in wide-eyed, gaping amaze, Joe was on his feet again, serene and calm as ever, only his great chest laboured somewhat, but Ravenslee shook his head.
“I guess that’ll be about enough, Joe,” said he.
“Guv,” cried the Old Un, seizing Ravenslee’s right hand, boxing glove and all, and shaking it to and fro, “you’re a credit to us, you do us bloomin’ proud—strike me pink, ye do! ‘Ere ‘s Joe ‘ammered you an’ ‘ammered you—look at your bloomin’ chest—lumme! ‘Ere ‘s Joe been knockin’ ye down an’ knockin’ ye down, an’ you comin’ up smilin’ for more an’ gettin’ it—’ere’s Joe been a-poundin’ of ye all over the ring, yet you can finish strong an’ speedy enough to put Joe down—blimy, Guv, you’re a wonder an’ no error!”
“I don’t think Joe fought his hardest, Old Un.”
“If ‘e didn’t,” cried the old man, “I’ll punch ‘im on the nose so ‘e won’t never smell nothink no more.”
“Sir,” said Joe, “in the first round p’raps I did go a bit easylike, but arter that I came at you as ‘ard an’ ‘eavy as I could. I ‘it you where an’ ‘ow I could, barrin’ your face.”
“I hope I shall soon be good enough for you to go for my face as well, Joe.”
“But, sir—if I give you a black eye—”
“How will—say, ten dollars do?”
“Ten dollars! For blacking your eye, sir?”
“Lumme, Joe!” cried the Old Un, “get back into the ring and black ‘em both—”
“Shut up!” said Joe, scowling down into the Old Un’s eager face, “you ‘eartless old bloodsucker, you!”
“Bloodsucker!” screamed the old man, “w’ot, me? I’ll punch you on the ear-‘ole, Joe, so’s you never ‘ear nothin’ no more.”
“Are you on, Joe?” asked Ravenslee, while the Old Un, swearing softly, unlaced his gloves.
“But, crumbs, sir—axin’ your pardon, things’ll come a bit expensive, won’t they? Y’ see—”
“So much the better, ye blighted perisher!” snarled the Old Un, “an’ don’t forget as the Guv owes you thirty dollars a’ready—an’ ‘arves, mind.”
“Stow it, you old bag o’ wickedness—”
“Bag o’—” the Old Un let fall the boxing gloves and turning on Joe, reached up and shook a feeble old fist under the champion’s massive chin. “Look at this, me lad—look at this!” he croaked. “Some day I shall ketch you sich a perishin’ punch as’ll double ye up till kingdom come, me lad, and—Lord, the Guv’s countin’ out our money—”
“Thirty of ‘em, Joe,” said Ravenslee, holding out a wad of bills.
“Why, sir,” said Joe, backing away, “axing yer pardon, but I’d rayther not—you give me such uncommon good wages, sir, and a bonus every race we run, win or lose—so, sir, I—I’d rayther not—”
“Not?” cried the Old Un, “not take money as is ‘arf mine—Oh, kick ‘im, somebody—kick ‘im! Pound ‘im for a pigeon-‘earted perishin’ pork pig—”
“That’ll be no sugar in your tea t’night, old viciousness! But, sir, I’d rayther not—”
“Don’t ‘eed ‘im, Guv—don’t ‘eed the flappin’ flounder. If ‘e wont obleege ye in a little matter like thirty dollars, I will—I’ll always obleege you—”
“That’s enough from you, old tombstones.”
“Tombstones!” hissed the Old Un, scowling darkly and squaring his trembling fists, “all right, me lad, ‘ere ‘s where I ketch ye one as’ll flatten ye out till the day o’ doom—”
