"Shook ye up a bit, sir?" enquired Joe, running up with hands outstretched, "take a rest, now do, sir."
"No, no," answered Ravenslee, springing to his feet, "the Old Un hasn't called 'Time' yet."
"Not me!" piped the old man, "not bloomin' likely! Go to it, both on ye—mind, that's two-fifty for me, Joe!"
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.