The Slasher, with an 'Away, slight man' motion of the hand, said 'Gerrout!' and the fellow obeyed, seeing that there was nothing else for it. Hercules spat upon his hand, clenched his fist, and smote. Crash went the whole machine into ruin, the wooden upright splintered, and the iron supports doubled into uselessness. The destroyer rolled on rejoicing; but the crowd made a subscription, and the owner of the machine stowed away his damaged property well pleased.
Mr. Morris Roberts was a gentleman known to local fame in those days—I am writing of five-and-thirty years ago—and Mr. Morris Roberts had a boxing-booth on the ground. In front of the booth he had a little platform, and from it he addressed the congregation gathered together at the beating of a gong.
'Walk up, gentlemen; walk up, and see the noble art of self-defence practised by Englishmen, not like the cowardly Frenchman or Italian, as uses sticks, knives, pistils, and other firearms, but the wepons pervided by nature. I've got a nigger inside as won't say No to no man. Also George Gough, as has fought fifteen knuckle fights within the last two years, and won 'em all, one man down and the next come on. If there's any sportsman here as cares to 'ave a turn at him, there's half-a-crown and a glass of sperrits for the man as stands before George Gough five minutes, no matter wheer he comes from.'
The Slasher, in the full tide of his wicked humour, stood below, and when the oration was ended he threw his old silk hat upon the stage. Mr. Morris Roberts was bawling that twopence did it—a first-rate sample of the noble art was to be seen for twopence—when this unexpected action froze him in mid-torrent.
'Come, come, Mr. Perry,' he said, when he had recovered himself a little, 'you can't expect George to stand up again the Champion of all England. That doesn't stand to reason, that doesn't. Now, does it, Mr. Perry?'
The Slasher smiled. 'All right Hand down half a crown and that there glass o' sperrits.'
'You don't mean it, Mr. Perry,' said Mr. Morris Roberts.
'Don't I?' cried the Slasher.
A sudden inspiration illumined Mr. Morris's mind. 'All right Come up, Mr. Perry. Sixpence—sixpence—sixpence does it!'
It was no sooner known that the Champion was really resolved on business than the entrance to the booth was besieged. I was borne in breathless, all the wind being squeezed out of my small body by the pressure of the crowd, and bang went sixpence, the one coin which was to see me through the expenses of the day. It turned out that Mr. Gough had been impertinent to the Slasher, and the offended dignitary punched him, as I thought, a little unmercifully. At the close of the first round the man of the booth said—truthfully enough, no doubt—that he had had enough of it, and the entertainment came to a premature end.