_The Earl of Arriemore_. ARRIEMORE'S my name, yer Washup, wich I'm a
bloomin' Lord.

_Mr. Pheasant_. Of course--of course. Now tell me, have you ever boxed
at all yourself?

_The Earl of Arriemore_. Never, thwulp me, never! But I like to set
the lads on to do a bit of millin' for me.

_Mr. Pheasant_. Quite so. Very right and proper. What do you say to
the gloves produced by the inspector?

_The Earl of Arriemore_. Call _them_ gloves? Why, I calls 'em
woolsacks, that's what I calls 'em. [_Much laughter._

_Mr. Pheasant_. No doubt, that would be so. But now with regard to
these other gloves, do you say they would be calculated to deaden the
force of a blow; in fact, to prevent such a contest from degenerating
into a merely brutal exhibition, and to make it, as I understand it
ought to be, a contest of pure skill?

_The Earl of Arriemore_. That's just it. Why, two babbies might box
with them gloves and do themselves no harm. And, as to skill, why it
wants a lot of skill to hit with 'em at all.

[_Winks at Lord TRIMI GLOVESON, who winks back._

_Mr. Pheasant_. Really? That is very interesting, very interesting
indeed! I think perhaps the best plan will be for the two