as fought fifteen knuckle fights within the
last two years, and won 'em all, one man down and the next come on.
If there's any sportsman here as cares to 'ave a turn at him, there's
half-a-crown and a glass of sperrits for the man as stands before George
Gough five minutes, no matter wheer he comes from.'

The Slasher, in the full tide of his wicked humour, stood below, and
when the oration was ended he threw his old silk hat upon the stage. Mr.
Morris Roberts was bawling that twopence did it--a first-rate sample of
the noble art was to be seen for twopence--when this unexpected action
froze him in mid-torrent.

'Come, come, Mr. Perry,' he said, when he had recovered himself a
little, 'you can't expect George to stand up again the Champion of all
England. That doesn't stand to reason, that doesn't. Now, does it, Mr.
Perry?'

The Slasher smiled. 'All right Hand down half a crown and that there
glass o' sperrits.'

'You don't mean it, Mr. Perry,' said Mr. Morris Roberts.

'Don't I?' cried the Slasher.

A sudden inspiration illumined Mr. Morris's mind. 'All right Come up,
Mr. Perry. Sixpence--sixpence--sixpence does it!'

It was no sooner known that the Champion was really resolved on business
than the entrance to the booth was besieged. I was borne in breathless,
all the wind being squeezed out of my small body by the pressure of the
crowd, and bang went sixpence, the one coin which was to see me
through the expenses of the day. It turned out that Mr. Gough had been
impertinent to the Slasher, and the offended dignitary punched him, as I
thought, a little unmercifully. At the close of the first round the man
of the booth said--truthfully enough, no doubt--that he had had enough
of it, and the entertainment came to a premature end.

That was the last I saw of the Slasher for years. He was the cynosure
of all eyes then, and observed of all observers. But there is no wolf
so strong but he may find another to make wolves' meat of him; and Tom
Sayers, who had fought his first fight--so tradition tells--on the canal
bank within a mile of the Slasher's public-house, sent in his challenge,
and poor old Tipton's colours were lowered for once and for ever. He
mortgaged the stock and goodwill of the house and backed himself for
every penny he was worth, and he was beaten. He was grey and over-fat,
and his fighting days were over. I forget now for how many years he had
held the Championship Belt, but he ought to have been le