"Seven—'undred—thousand—pound."
"Hum!" said Natty Bell,—"quite a tidy sum, John."
"Come list, all ye fighting gills
And coves of boxing note, sirs,
While I relate some bloody mills
In our time have been fought, sirs."
"Yes, a good deal can be done wi' such a sum as that, John."
"But it can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, Natty Bell,—nor yet a gentlemen out o' you or me—or Barnabas here."
"For instance," continued Natty Bell, "for instance, John:
"Since boxing is a manly game,
And Britain's recreation,
By boxing we will raise our fame
'Bove every other nation."
"As I say, John, a young and promising life can be wrecked, and utterly blasted by a much less sum than seven hundred thousand pound."
"Ah!" nodded John, "but a sow's ear aren't a silk purse, Natty Bell, no, nor never can be."
"True, John; but, arter all, a silk purse ain't much good if 't is empty—it's the gold inside of it as counts."