He had been there more than nine months, and had developed from an
active youth into an athletic young man of eighteen, when an
important conversation took place between him and his principal. It
was evening, and the only persons in the gymnasium were Ned Skene,
who sat smoking at his ease with his coat off, and the novice, who
had just come down-stairs from his bedroom, where he had been
preparing for a visit to the theatre.
"Well, my gentleman," said Skene, mockingly; "you're a fancy man,
you are. Gloves too! They're too small for you. Don't you get
hittin' nobody with them on, or you'll mebbe sprain your wrist."
"Not much fear of that," said the novice, looking at his watch, and,
finding that he had some minutes to spare, sitting down opposite
Skene.
"No," assented the champion. "When you rise to be a regular
professional you won't care to spar with nobody without you're well
paid for it."
"I may say I am in the profession already. You don't call me an
amateur, do you?"
"Oh, no," said Skene, soothingly; "not so bad as that. But mind you,
my boy, I don't call no man a fighting-man what ain't been in the
ring. You're a sparrer, and a clever, pretty sparrer; but sparring
ain't the real thing. Some day, please God, we'll make up a little
match for you, and show what you can do without the gloves."
"I would just as soon have the gloves off as on," said the novice, a
little sulkily.
"That's because you have a heart as big as a lion," said Skene,
patting him on the shoulder. But the novice, who was accustomed to
hear his master pay the same compliment to his patrons whenever they
were seized with fits of boasting (which usually happened when they
got beaten), looked obdurate and said nothing.
"Sam Ducket, of Milltown, was here to-day while you was out giving
Captain Noble his lesson," continued Skene, watching his
apprentice's face cunningly. "Now Sam is a real fighting-man, if you
like."
"I don't think much of him. He's a liar, for one thing."
"That's a failing of the profession. I don't mind telling YOU so,"
said Skene, mournfully. Now the novice had found out this for
himself, already. He never, for instance, believed the accounts
which his master gave of the accidents and conspiracies which had
led to his being defeated three times in the ring. However, as Skene
had won fifteen battles, his next remark was undeniable. "Men fight
none the worse for being liars. Sam Ducket bet Ebony Muley in twenty
minutes."