Skepsey watched them, in felicity for love of the fray, pained by the
disregard of science.

Comments on the pretty play, indicating a reminiscent acquaintance with
it, and the capacity for critical observations, were started. Assaults,
wonderful tricks of a slashing Life-Guardsman, one spectator had
witnessed at an exhibition in a London hall. Boxing too. You may see
displays of boxing still in places. How about a prizefight?--With money
on it?--Eh, but you don't expect men to stand up to be knocked into
rumpsteaks for nothing?--No, but it's they there bets!--Right, and that's
a game gone to ruin along of outsiders.--But it always was and it always
will be popular with Englishmen!

Great English names of young days, before the wintry shadow of the Law
had blighted them, received their withered laurels. Emulous boys were
in the heroic posture. Good! sparring does no hurt: Skepsey seized a
likely lad, Dartrey another. Nature created the Ring for them. Now
then, arms and head well up, chest hearty, shoulders down, out with the
right fist, just below the level of the chin; out with the left fist
farther, right out, except for that bit of curve; so, and draw it
slightly back for wary-pussy at the spring. Firm you stand, feeling
the muscles of both legs, left half a pace ahead, right planted, both
stringy. None of your milk-pail looks; show us jaw, you bulldogs. Now
then, left from the shoulder, straight at right of head.--Good, and
alacrity called on vigour in Skepsey's pupil; Dartrey's had the fist on
his mouth before he could parry right arm up. 'Foul blow!' Dartrey
cried. Skepsey vowed to the contrary. Dartrey reiterated his charge.
Skepsey was a figure of negation, gesticulating and protesting. Dartrey
appealed tempestuously to the Ring; Skepsey likewise, in a tone of
injury. He addressed a remonstrance to Captain Dartrey.