Here I am, commander!" cries Phil, who has started from his chair and unaccountably begun to sidle away. "If a mark's wanted, or if it will improve the business, let the customers take aim at me. They can't spoil MY beauty. I'M all right. Come on! If they want a man to box at, let 'em box at me. Let 'em knock me well about the head. I don't mind. If they want a light-weight to be throwed for practice, Cornwall, Devonshire, or Lancashire, let 'em throw me. 
Here I am!" cries Phil. "Let the customers take aim at me. They can't spoil my beauty. If they want a man to box at, let 'em box at me. If they want to throw a wrestler, let 'em throw me. 