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"
"Stow it, you old bag o' wickedness--"
"Bag o'--" the Old Un let fall the boxing gloves and turning on Joe,
reached up and shook a feeble old fist under the champion's massive
chin. "Look at this, me lad--look at this!" he croaked. "Some day I
shall ketch you sich a perishin' punch as'll double ye up till kingdom
come, me lad, and--Lord, the Guv's countin' out our money--"
"Thirty of 'em, Joe," said Ravenslee, holding out a wad of bills.
"Why, sir," said Joe, backing away, "axing yer pardon, but I'd rayther
not--you give me such uncommon good wages, sir, and a bonus every race
we run, win or lose--so, sir, I--I'd rayther not--"
"Not?" cried the Old Un, "not take money as is 'arf mine--Oh, kick 'im,
somebody--kick 'im! Pound 'im for a pigeon-'earted perishin' pork pig--"
"That'll be no sugar in your tea t'night, old viciousness! But, sir, I'd
rayther not--"
"Don't 'eed 'im, Guv--don't 'eed the flappin' flounder. If 'e wont
obleege ye in a little matter like thirty dollars, I will--I'll always
obleege you--"
"That's enough from you, old tombstones.


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