[_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!

_Prof._ Step inside the ropes then, and _I'll_ soon show yer some!