Thecrowdcheer，andbegintochaffJoe，whoturnsuphisnoseandswaggersacrosstothesticks。“Imp’dentoldwosbird！“sayshe；“I’llbreakthebaldheadonuntothetruth。“
Theoldboyisverybald，certainly，andthebloodwillshowfastenoughifyoucantouchhim，Joe。
Hetakesoffhislong-flappedcoat，andstandsupinalong-
flappedwaistcoat，whichSirRogerdeCoverleymighthavewornwhenitwasnew，picksoutastick，andisreadyforMasterJoe，wholosesnotime，butbeginshisoldgame，whack，whack，whack，tryingtobreakdowntheoldman’sguardbysheerstrength。Butitwon’tdo；hecatcheseveryblowclosebythebasket，andthoughheisratherstiffinhisreturns，afteraminutewalksJoeaboutthestage，andisclearlyastancholdgamester。Joenowcomesin，andmakingthemostofhisheight，triestogetovertheoldman’sguardathalf-stick，bywhichhetakesasmartblowintheribsandanotherontheelbow，andnothingmore。Andnowheloseswindandbeginstopuff，andthecrowdlaugh。“Cry’hold，’Joe；thee’stmetthymatch！“Insteadoftakinggoodadviceandgettinghiswind，Joeloseshistemper，andstrikesattheoldman’sbody。
“Blood，blood！“shoutthecrowd；“Joe’shead’sbroke！“