"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."