"Most appalling decision," said Percival in a loud whisper. "The
referee has obviously been got at."

"Sh!" replied Frederick. "He hasn't been told it's a boxing contest.
He thinks it's a clog-dancing competition and is giving the points for
footwork."

Unfortunately the M.C. did not hear. He was speaking himself.

"The next bout should conclude our programme," he said, "but I am
asked to announce that Private Henson challenges Private Fry to box
six two-minute rounds, backing himself for five francs against a small
article of no intrinsic value."

Enthusiastic applause greeted the announcement. A disturbance in the
rear of the hut indicated that Elfred was heading for cover.

"'E 's twice my size," he wailed as strong hands hauled him back.

"The challenger admits that he holds a slight advantage in weight,"
continued the M.C., "but considers that is counterbalanced by his
advanced years."

"This is _your_ fiendish work," hissed Percival to Frederick.

"Not a bit of it, old sportsman," replied Frederick cheerfully. "The
patent rights are held by 'Enery. I merely mentioned to him that
Elfred possessed a desirable bath-plug that it might be useful to
acquire."