_Joe._ 'Ere, MELIA, come along in, and look arter my 'at an' coat.

_Melia._ I dussen't, JOE! I can't abear to see no fightin', I'll bide
'ere till ye come out.

[_JOE enters the tent, followed by the Pupils and a few
Connoisseurs._

_Prof._ (_looking into the interior of tent through a slit in the
canvas_). Theer they are! Oh my, what a pictur'! They're puttin' on
the gloves now, make 'aste if you're goin' in! (_The Crowd hesitate._)
'Ere! (_To the Champions._) Step outside once more and show
yourselves!

[_The Champions appear, re-mount the platform, and are
introduced all over again._

_Melia_ (_intercepting her swain_). JOE, 'ow are ye gittin' on? You
don't look none the worse so fur; is it neelly over?

_Joe_ (_gruffly_). Neelly over! why, we ain't _begun_ yet--nor likely
to wi' all this bloomin' palaverin'!

_Melia._ I do wish 'twas over--Kip a good 'art, JOE; don't let 'un go
knockin' ye about!

_Joe_ (_with a slight decrease of confidence_). Theer's a way to talk!
I doan't reckon as 'ow he'll _kill_ me, not in three rounds, I doan't,
but if I'd a-know'd there'd be all this messin' about fust, I'd a--