“Lord, Flashy,” says he. “D’ye know how much I used to be paid to come up to scratch? And you want to see it free, you dog!”

But Bismarck wasn’t laughing. “That is a foolish proposal,” says he. “Mr Gully is too old.”

Gully’s laugh was wiped off his face at once. “Now, wait a moment, mynheer,” says he, but I was ahead of him again.

“Oh, is that it?” says I. “You wouldn’t be chary about milling with a professional, would you?”

Everyone was talking at once, of course, but Bismarck’s voice cut through them.

“I have no interest in whether he is a professional or not—”

“Or the fact that he was once in jail?” says I.

“—but only in the fact that he is very much older than I. As to his being in prison, what has that to do with anything?”

“You know best about that,” says I, sneering.

“Now, dammit, hold on here,” says Perceval. “What the devil is all this? Flashy—”

“Ah, I’m sick of his airs,” says I, “and his sneers at Jack there. All right, he’s your guest, Tom, but he goes a bit far. Let him put up or shut up. I only suggested he should try a round with a real boxer, to show him that his jibes were wide of the mark, and he turns up his nose as though Gully weren’t good enough for him. It’s the wrong side of enough, I say.”

“Not good enough?” roars Jack. “What’s this…?”

“No one said anything of the sort,” cries Tom. “Flashy, I don’t know what you’re driving at, but—”

“Captain Flashman’s intention is apparently to annoy me,” says Bismarck. “He has not succeeded. My only objection to boxing with Mr Gully was on the score of his age.”

“That’ll do about my age, thank’ee!” says Jack, going red. “I’m not so old I can’t deal with anyone who don’t know his place!”

They calmed him down, and there was a lot of hubbub and noise and nonsense, and the upshot was that most of them, being slightly fuddled anyway, got the notion that I had suggested, friendly-like, to Bismarck, that he try a round with Gully, and that somehow he had insulted old Jack and looked down on him. It was Spottswood who calmed things over, and said there was no cause for shouting or hard feelings.

“The point is, does the Baron want to try his hand in a friendly spar? That’s all. If so, Jack’ll oblige, won’t you, Jack?”

“No, no,” says Jack, who was cooled again. “Why, I haven’t stood in a ring for thirty years, man. Besides,” he added, with a smile, “I didn’t understand that our guest was eager to try me.”

That brought him a lofty look from Bismarck, but Spottswood says:

“Tell ye what, Jack; if you’ll spar a round or two with him, I’ll sell you Running Ribbons.”