Un raised and shook a feeble old fist--"I've a good mind t' ketch 'im
one as would put 'im t' sleep for a fortnight--I've a good mind--"

But Mrs. Trapes caught that tremulous fist and drawing the Old Un's arm
through her own, turned to the door.

"You come along with me," said she, "you shall help me t' get the tea;
you shall carry in th' cake an'--"

"Cake!" exclaimed the Old Un, "Oh, j'yful word, ma'am; you're a--a
lidy! An' there's jam, ain't there?"

"Strawberry!"

"Straw--oh, music t' me ears, ma'am--you're a nymp'--lead me to it!" So
saying, the Old Un followed Mrs. Trapes out into the kitchen, while the
Spider stared after him open-mouthed.

"Sufferin' Pete!" he murmured, then, inhaling a long, deep breath,
turned to grasp Joe's mighty, outstretched hand. Then, drawing their
chairs together, they sat down, and Ravenslee, by an adroit question
or two, soon had them talking, the Spider quick and eager and chewing
voraciously, Joe soft-voiced and deliberate but speaking with that calm
air of finality that comes only of long and varied experience. So, while
Ravenslee smoked and listened, they spoke of past battles, of fights and
fighters old and new; they discoursed learnedly on ringcraft, they
discussed the merits of the crouch as opposed to the stiff leg and
straight left; they stood up to show tricks of foot and hand--cunning
shifts and feints; they ducked and side-stepped and smote the empty air
with whirling fists to the imminent peril of the owl that was a parrot,