soldier, very gruff and taciturn, and with decided leanings towards
pessimism. The other was also a soldier. He was in every way his
colleague's opposite. He was half his size, had red hair, and was
bubbling over with conversation. The other could not interfere with his
hair or his size, but he could with his conversation, and whenever he
attempted a remark, he was promptly silenced, much to his disgust.

'Plenty o' moosle 'ere, Fred,' he began, as he rubbed Tony's left arm.

'Moosle ain't everything,' said the other, gloomily, and there was
silence again.

'Are you ready? Seconds away,' said the referee.

'Time!'

The two stood up to one another.

The Wellington representative was a plucky boxer, but he was not in the
same class as Tony. After a few exchanges, the latter got to work, and
after that there was only one man in the ring. In the middle of the
second round the referee stopped the fight, and gave it to Tony, who
came away as fresh as he had started, and a great deal happier and more
confident.

'Did us proud, Fred,' began the garrulous man.

'Yes, but that 'un ain't nothing. You wait till he meets young Thomson.
I've seen 'im box 'ere three years, and never bin beat yet. Three
bloomin' years. Yus.'