Prof. Are there any two friends in 'ere as 'ud like to fight a round or two?
[Two Rustics step forward valiantly—a tall dark man and a little red-haired one—and, after the usual preliminaries, square up at a safe distance.
Spectators (to the tall man). Why don't ye step up to 'un, Jim? Use yer right 'and a bit! (To the short one.) Let out on 'un, Tom!
[Tom, thus exhorted, lands an unexpected blow on Jim's eye.
Jim (suddenly ducking under the rope in great dudgeon). 'Twas a cowardly blow! I didn' stan' up to be 'it in th' fa-ace i' that way; I've 'ad enoof of it!
Tom. Come back and fight it out! (Soothingly.) Why, ye come at me like a thunderin' great lion, ye did!
Jim (putting on his hat and coat, sulkily). Loi-on or noan, I ain't gawin' to hev naw moor on it, I tell 'ee. [Groans from Spectators.
Prof. Don't be 'ard on 'im, Gents; it ain't 'is fault if he's on'y bin used to box with bolsters, and as he ain't goin' to finish 'is rounds, it's all over for this time, and I 'ope you're all satisfied with what you've seen.
A Malcontent. I ain't. I carl it a bloomin' swindle. I come 'ere to see some sparrin', I did!