"In Heaven's name, don't pretend you're so infernal green, Perry! The 'Thunderbolt' is a fighting man from Lambeth, a tough customer who's won a fight or so lately and thought he could beat anything on two pins. So we were bringing him down here, hoping to match him with Jessamy, or, failing him, some other good man. But the fool, not knowing Jessamy, get's himself thrashed, and the whole thing's a flam." "Jessamy has given up the game, Uncle." "I know, but he loves it still. And you saw the fight! Tell me of it--no, wait--the others must hear." So saying, my uncle George hooked his powerful arm in mine and led me whither he would. By devious ways we went, to avoid the crowd; dodging behind empty caravans and waggons, skirting booths and tents until we came on one greater than all the rest, a huge canvas structure into which he brought me forthwith. The place was empty except for some scant few persons grouped about a stage whereon two fellows, naked to the waist, their fists swathed in what I believe are termed 'muffles', dodged and ducked, feinted or smote each other with great spirit and gusto until one of them, reeling from a flush hit, sat down with sudden violence and remained in this posture to blink and get his breath. "Dooce--take me--Tom!" exclaimed this individual, in breathless reproach. "Your--infernal mug's--hard as--iron!" "Craggy, my lord!" answered the other hoarsely. "Cragg by name an' Craggy by natur', my lord!" Thither my uncle George led me, his spurs jingling, whereupon the spectators turned to salute him and stare at me, among whom I recognised my uncle Jervas. "What, George," enquired one, "ha' you found Jessamy?" "No!" answered my uncle, slapping me on the shoulder. "But the next best thing, Devenham--" "And a demned queer-looking thing it is, George!" added the recumbent gentleman, viewing me with a pair of blue eyes, one of which exhibited signs of recent punishment. "None the less, Jerny," answered uncle George, "it is my nephew. Gentlemen, I have the honour to present Mr. Peregrine Vereker! Nephew, in the floored Corinthian with the damaged ogle, you will remark Richard, Marquis of Jerningham; on my right, Viscount Devenham; on my left, Sir Peregrine Beverley; before you Major Dashwood, Mr. Wemyss and your affectionate uncle Jervas. And now, gentlemen all, my nephew will tell you that he comes fresh from witnessing the defeat of Jerningham's unfortunate champion The 'Thunderbolt' at the hands of the unconquerable Jessamy Todd!" "Aha!" cried the Marquis, springing lightly to his feet and muffling naked torso in gaudy dressing-gown; and next moment he and the others were thronged about me vociferous for knowledge.