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Updated: May 6, 2025
"Tom," cried the one-eyed man, "wot's all this we heerd of Ted Jarraway of Swansea bein' knocked out in five rounds by this 'ere Lord Vibbot, up in London?" "Vibbot?" repeated Cragg, frowning into his tankard, "I 'aven't 'eard of no Vibbot, neither lord, earl, nor dook." "Come, Tom," coaxed the other, "everybody's heerd o' Buck Vibbot, 'im they calls the 'Fightin' Barronite."
"Egad!" cried Sir Richard, "who hasn't heard of Buck Vibart beat Ted Jarraway of Swansea in five rounds drove coach and four down Whitehall on sidewalk ran away with a French marquise while but a boy of twenty, and shot her husband into the bargain. Devilish celebrated figure in 'sporting circles, friend of the Prince Regent " "So I understand," said I.
I inquired, blowing a cloud of smoke into the warm air. "I won ten thousand guineas when he knocked out Ted Jarraway of Swansea," yawned my companion; "a good fighter, but a rogue like all the rest of 'em, and a creature of your excellent cousin's." "I guessed as much," I nodded, and forthwith plunged into an account of my meeting with the "craggy one," the which seemed to amuse Mr.
"If," said Cragg, rolling his bullet-head, "if you was to ask me who put Ted Jarraway to sleep, I should answer you, Sir Maurice Vibart, commonly called 'Buck' Vibart; an' it took ten rounds to do it, not five." As may be expected, at this mention of my cousin's name I pricked up my ears. "And what's all this 'bout him 'putting out' Tom Cragg, in three?"
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