"Bo," exclaimed the Spider, rising reverently and taking a step toward Joe's massive figure, quite forgetful of the pink hearthrug now, "you don't have t' tell me nothin'. I guess I know th' best all-round fightin' man, the greatest champion as ever swung a mitt, when I see him! T' shake his hand'll sure be--" "Young feller, me lad," cried the Old Un, reaching out nimbly and catching the Spider's extended hand, "you got a sharp eye, a true eye--a eye as can discrimpinate, like--ah, like a flash o' light. You're right, me lad, I was the best fightin' man, the greatest champeen as ever was--sixty odd years ago. Ho, yus, I were the best of 'em all, an' I ain't t' be sniffed at now. So shake me 'and, me lad--an' shake--hard!" The Spider's grim jaw relaxed, and his eyes opened very wide as the Old Un continued to shake his hand up and down. "But, say," said he faintly at last, "I don't--" "No more don't I," nodded the Old Un, "what's the old song say: "'I don't care if it rains or snows Or what the day may be Since 'ere's a truth I plainly knows Love, you'll remember me.'" "But say," began the bewildered Spider again. "Say, I reckon--" "So do I," nodded the Old Un: "'I reckon up my years o' life An' a good long life 'ave I. Ye see, I never had a wife, P'raps that's the reason why.' "So take it from me, young feller, me cove, don't 'ave nothin' to do with givin' or takin' in marriage." "Marriage?" "Marriage ain't good for a fightin' cove--it spiles him, it shakes 'is nerve, it fair ruinates 'im. When love flies in at the winder, champeenships fly up the chimbley--never t' come back no more. So beware o' wives, me lad." "Wives!" repeated the Spider, lifting free hand to dazed brow, "I--I ain't never--" "That's right!" nodded the Old Un heartily, shaking the Spider's unresisting hand again, "marriage ain't love, an' love ain't marriage. Wot's the old song say: "'Oh, love is like a bloomin' rose But marriage is a bloomin' thorn. An 'usband 's full o' bloomin' woes An' 'caves a bloomin' sigh each morn--'" "Why, Old Un!" exclaimed Ravenslee, "that's a very remarkable verse!" "My land!" ejaculated Mrs. Trapes, squaring her elbows in the doorway, "I suspects he's a poet--an' him sech a nice little old gentleman!" "A poet, ma'am!" exclaimed the Old Un indignantly, "not me, ma'am, not me--should scorn t' be. I'm a 'ighly respected old fightin' man, I am, as never went on th' cross: "'A fightin' man I, ma'am, An' wish I may die, ma'am, If ever my backers I crossed; An' what's better still, ma'am, Though I forgot many a mill, ma'am, Not one of 'em ever I lost.'" "My land!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes again. "What a memory!" "Memory, ma'am!" growled Joe, "that ain't memory; 'e makes 'em up as 'e goes along--" "Joe," said the Old Un, glaring, "if the lady weren't here, an' axin' 'er pardon--I'd punch you in the perishin' eye-'ole for that!"