And now there was a pause, and a purse of £14 being collected, Ned Murphy (who had already fought M’Carthy, and a commoner or two), presented himself as a candidate for the coin. Our hero (who, doubtless, knew something of the challenger), eager of the opportunity of showing the stuff he was made of, at once, with the approval of Joe Parish, stepped into the ropes, and threw down his cap as a reply. No time was wasted in elaborate toilettes, and the ring being cleared, all eyes were bent on the “big fight” of the day, which, on this occasion, was presented as the afterpiece. Mister Murphy was so cock-sure of the money, and so eager to win, that he went off at score to polish off “the boy” for his presumption. Not only was his gallop stopped by some clever straight ’uns from the resolute young Jack, helped by an occasional upper-cut as he went in, but he, in turn, was fain to stand out, and retreat to “draw” his opponent. Young Jem, however, was not to be had twice at this game, and Mister Murphy not quite liking the look of the job, began to fight for darkness, which was fast coming on. Harry Jones, who was picking up Murphy as a “pal,” seeing the dubious state of affairs, stepped up to the referee and asked a “draw.” The men had now fought 50 rounds in the like number of minutes, and were quite capable, if they were of the same sort as the last dozen, of fighting 50 more; so the Young’un was persuaded to “whack” the stakes, and make up matters over a pot and a pipe at “The Spotted Dog,” by which arrangement Mr. Murphy got the “half a loaf” which is proverbially “better than no bread,” while the young “Jack-on-the-water” was in the seventh heaven of delight, not only at his success (for he felt he must win), but at the possession of several golden portraits of His Majesty George the Fourth, of a value which to him seemed to vie with the fabulous treasures of Aladdin’s cave. Jem was now “a card,” not only at the Strand Lane _soirées_, but was a free and accepted brother at all the sporting cribs in the hundred of Drury, Wild Street, the pugnacious purlieus of Clare Market, and among the “porterhood” of Covent Garden. Those were rough times, and among other rough entertainments the “rough music” of the butchers of Clare Market was not the least popular. Their marrow-bones and cleavers were always ready to “discourse” loud, if not “sweet music,” upon occasions of a wedding, a birth, or a christening among their own fraternity, or when any popular or well-known inhabitant took unto himself a wife. Foremost in these charivaris was one Tom Hands, who further had the reputation of being “sudden in quarrel,” and with him and the Deaf’un there had passed a sharp round or two at one of these uproarious gatherings, which had ended in their being separated by their friends.