[He hands him a huge pair of highlows.

Prof. (calling in).  Fur the larst time, come outside and show yerselves, all on yer!

The Friend. You got to go out agin, JOE, better putt on yer coat an’ ’at, not to ketch cold!

Joe. Ah, and I’ll ’ave to ’ave they bo-oots on agen, too. (He gets into his things in a great flurry, and hastens outside.) ’Tis enough to take th’ ’art out of a man, thet ’tis!

    [More exhortations from Proprietor, until the last Spectator
    has been induced to enter the Saloon, whereupon the Champions
    return, and the hangings at the entrance are finally drawn.

Prof. (acting as Timekeeper).  Now then, all ready? (To JOE.) In you go—­What are yer waitin’ for?  Never mind about takin’ orf yer boots!  Gentlemen, BATTERS o’ Bermondsey is agoin’ to fight three rounds with a volunteer, one o’ your own men.  Whatever you see between ’em (solemnly), pass no remarks!  Time!

[JOE and “BATTERS o’ Bermondsey” walk round each other and make a fumbling attempt to shake hands, after which JOE, while preparing to deliver a blow with extreme caution and deliberation, is surprised by a smart smack on his cheek, which makes him stagger; he recovers himself and prances down on BATTERS with a windmill action.

Batters (limping into his corner).  ’Ere, I say, ole man—­moind my tows—­foight at yer right end!

Joe (apologetically).  I didn’t mean nothing unfair-like—­I warnted fur to take off them ’ere boots—­but I warn’t let!

Batters. I’ll let ye—­fur ’taint no corpet slippers as you’ve got on, ole feller, I tell yer strite!

    [JOE removes the offending boots.

Spectators (during the second round, which is fought with more spirit than science on JOE’S part).  Ah, JOE ain’t no match for ’un—­he let un ’ave it then, didn’t he?  My word! but it’s “Go ’ome an’ tell yer Mother, an’ ax yer Uncle ’ow ye be” with ’un, pretty near every time!

Prof. (with affected rapture).  Oh dear!  Oh lor! What doins!  Time! you two, afore ye kill one another!  Now, Gentlemen, a good clap, to encourage ’em.  I think you’ll agree as the Volunteer is showin’ you good sport; and, if you think him deservin’ of a drink, p’raps one o’ you will oblige with the loan of a ’at, which he’ll now take round. (The hat is procured, and offered to JOE, who, however, prefers that the collection should be made by deputy.) Don’t forgit ’im, Gentlemen! (Coppers pour into the hat, and the last round is fought; B. of B. ducking JOE’S blows with great agility, and planting his own freely in various parts of JOE’S anatomy.)

Spectators. ’E’ll be knocked out in a minnit, ’e will!  Don’t sim to git near ’un no ‘ow.  Look a’ that—­and thar agin!  Ah, JOE got one in that time—­but the tother’s the better man—­’e don’t touch ’un without ’ittin’ of ’un—­d’ye see?  Time!  Ah, and time it was time, too—­fur ’im!