The play had not begun, and his long absence from the alley gave his surroundings an air of novelty.
The large room, furnished like a barn, gave no sign of its character, except for the ring, marked by a huge circular seat, the inner circle padded and covered with canvas to deaden the noise of falling coins.
Above the ring the roof rose into a dome where the players pitched the coins.

The gaffers, a motley crowd, were sitting or standing about, playing cards or throwing deck quoits to kill time till the play began.
The money-changer, his pockets bulging with silver, came up, and Chook turned his sovereigns into half-crowns.

Chook looked with curiosity at the crowd; they were all strangers to him.
The cards and quoits were dropped as the boxer entered the ring.

It was Paddy Flynn himself, a retired pugilist, with the face and neck of a bull, wearing a sweater and sandshoes, his arms and legs bared to show the enormous muscles of the ancient athlete.

He threw the kip and the pennies into the centre, and took his place on a low seat at the head of the ring.
The gaffers scrambled for places, wedged in a compact circle, the spectators standing behind them to advise or take a hand as occasion offered.