The street in which they had descended was situated in the heart of a
great city. The roar of traffic sounded in their ears from the larger
thoroughfares close by. Most of the houses were small and mean--a
remarkable contrast to one large building, brilliantly lighted, in
front of which a mob was gathered together. A more ruffianly-looking
assemblage it would have been hard to discover. The rest of the street
was filled with hansoms, the long line of which was constantly being
augmented by fresh arrivals, whose occupants sprang out and swiftly
mounted a flight of steps leading up to the entrance of the large
building mentioned, and passed through swing-doors of glass, which
gave admission to a broad passage. In front of this house the Sage
paused, and addressed his companion.
"Venerable One," he said, for he had become aware of a reluctance on
the part of the Lord of the Hour-Glass, "have no fear. We are now,
as you know, in the metropolis of Pollux. This is the country of
the [Greek: pux agathos], the home of the noble boxer; and this," he
added, pointing to the glittering palace, "is the headquarters, I am
informed, of the boxer's art. Let us enter, so that I may show you
how the game should really be played. I like not the crowd without.
Within we shall see something very different."
So saying, he linked his arm in that of the Paternal One, and together
they ascended the stairs. At the top stood an official dressed in a
dark uniform, his breast adorned with medals.
"I beg your pardon, Gentlemen," said the minion to the pair, "are you
Members?"
_Mr. Punch_ vouchsafed no answer. He looked at the man, who quailed
under the eagle glance, and, muttering a hasty apology, drew back.
A door flew open; the Champion of Champions and his friend passed
through it. They found themselves in a spacious hall. In the centre a
square had been roped off. All round were arranged seats and benches.
In the square were four men, two of them stripped to the waist sitting
in chairs in opposite corners, while the two others were busily
engaged in fanning them with towels. The seats and benches were all
occupied by a very motley throng.
"Aha," said _Mr. Punch_, as he made his way to the throne reserved for
him, "this is good. I have done a little bit of fighting myself in my
time. My mill with the Tutbury Boy is still remembered. One hundred
and twenty rounds, at the end of which I dropped him senseless. But
that was with the knuckles. Here they fight with gloves. But of course
they fight now for the mere honour of the thing, I presume."
[Illustration: A PAIR OF SPECTACLES.]