“Parding me, ’Enery Smiff,” returned William Jones with quiet dignity. “In consequents o’ wot you said, an’ more in consequents o’ yore clumsy fat fingers not been used to ’andlin’ dellikit objex, and most in consequents o’ yore been a most ontrustable thief, I will perceed to roll you a fag meself, me been ’ighly competent so fer to do. Not but wot a fag’ll look most outer place in _your_ silly great ugly faice.” The other sailor watched the speaker in cold contempt as he prepared a distinctly exiguous, ill-fed cigarette. “Harthur Handrews,” he said, turning to his other neighbour, “’Ave yew ’appened to see the Master Sail-maker or any of ’is mermydiuns ’ere-abahts, by any chawnst?” “Nope. ’An don’ want. Don’ wan’ see nothink to remind me o’ Ther blue, ther fresh, ther _hever_ free, Ther blarsted, beastly, boundin’ sea. Not even your distressin’ face and dirty norticle apparile. Why do you arksk sich silly questchings?” “Willyerm Jones is amakin’ a needle for ’im.” “As ’ow?” “Wiv a fag-paper an’ a thread o’ yaller baccy. ’E’s makin’ a bloomin’ needle,” and with a sudden grab he possessed himself of the pouch, papers, and finished product of Seaman Jones’s labours and generosity. Having pricked himself severely and painfully with the alleged cigarette, he howled with pain, cast it from him, proceeded to stick two papers together and to make an uncommonly stout, well-nourished, and bounteous cigarette. “I ’fought I offered you to make yourself a cigarette, ’Enery,” observed the astounded owner of the _materia nicotina_. “I grabbed for to make myself a cigarette, Willyerm,” was the pedantically correct restatement of Henry. “Then why go for to try an’ mannyfacter a bloomin’ banana?” asked the indignant victim, whose further remarks were drowned in the roars of applause which greeted the appearance from the dressing-tents of the Champion and the Challenger. Dam and Corporal Dowdall entered the ring from opposite corners, seated themselves in the chairs provided for them, and submitted themselves to the ministrations of their respective seconds. Trooper Herbert Hawker violently chafed Dam’s legs, Trooper Bear his arms and chest, while Trooper Goate struggled to force a pair of new boxing-gloves upon his hands, which were scientifically bandaged around knuckles, back, and wrist, against untimely dislocations and sprains. Clean water was poured into the bowls which stood behind each chair, and fresh resin was sprinkled over the canvas-covered boards of the Ring. Men whose favourite “carried their money” (and each carried a good deal) anxiously studied that favourite’s opponent. The Queen’s Greys beheld a gorilla indeed, a vast, square, long-armed hairy monster, with the true pugilist face and head. “Wot a werry ugly bloke,” observed Seaman Arthur Andrews to Seaman Henry Smith. “’E reminds me o’ Hadmiral Sir Percy ’Opkinton, so ’e do. P’raps ’e’s a pore relation.”