Years now rolled by, and Tom was generally known and respected. Being appointed to the charge of the ropes and stakes of the P.R., he was a constant attendant at the ring-side as commissary, and at sparring benefits. At length, in 1834, the “old war-horse” was neighed to by another old charger, no other than “Uncle Ben” (Burn). “My Nevvy” (Jem Burn) had removed from the Red Horse, Bond Street, to the Queen’s Head, Windmill Street, Haymarket, and there the commissary, “Mine Uncle,” and many of the old school, as well as the aspirants of the new school, nightly held their merry meetings, and talked over “deeds that were done and the men who did them,” with an occasional interlude of a new match between the active pugilistic practitioners of the day. For a long time “Uncle Ben” had amused himself and the listeners by somewhat disparaging opinions, not of Tom’s game, but of what he called his “wooden fighting,” and at length, half in jest, half in earnest, Tom, in his matter-of-fact style, informed “Mine Uncle,” that his opinion of the family was that they had produced only one “fighting man among the lot,” and he was his very good friend Jem Burn. This was “most tolerable, and not to be endured;” and “my Nevvy,” who loved a bit of fun, “as an alderman loves marrow,” tarred on the old uns by siding with the Commissary. Ben. hereupon produced his pouch, and offered to post a deposit to meet the veteran in battle array. The joke went on, but the old heroes were in earnest, and meant the thing they said. Articles were drawn, and the day fixed for Tuesday, the 28th of January, 1834. Oliver having won the toss, he named Coombe Warren as the place of rendezvous, and on Monday evening Uncle Ben took his departure from his training quarters at Finchley to the Robin Hood, at Kingston Bottom, where he arrived safe and sound, in the full anticipation of covering himself with glory on the ensuing day. Oliver, who was not so fortunate in patrons, had not the advantage of training beyond what he could obtain by his daily walks from his own domicile in Westminster, and on Thursday morning took the road towards the appointed place in a cab, accompanied by the Deputy Commissary, Jack Clarke, who had the care of the ropes and stakes. He made a halt at the same house as “my Uncle,” only occupying a separate apartment.