is,
would see that he got them. This offer, it may be mentioned, Sheen
accepted with gratitude, and the extra practice he acquired thereby was
subsequently of the utmost use to him. Francis, as a boxer, excelled in
what is known in pugilistic circles as shiftiness. That is to say, he
had a number of ingenious ways of escaping out of tight corners; and
these he taught Sheen, much to the latter's profit.

But this was later, when the Wrykinian had passed those preliminary
stages on which he was now to embark.

The art of teaching boxing really well is a gift, and it is given to
but a few. It is largely a matter of personal magnetism, and, above
all, sympathy. A man may be a fine boxer himself, up to every move of
the game, and a champion of champions, but for all that he may not be a
good teacher. If he has not the sympathy necessary for the appreciation
of the difficulties experienced by the beginner, he cannot produce good
results. A boxing instructor needs three qualities--skill, sympathy,
and enthusiasm. Joe Bevan had all three, particularly enthusiasm. His
heart was in his work, and he carried Sheen with him. "Beautiful, sir,
beautiful," he kept saying, as he guarded the blows; and Sheen, though
too clever to be wholly deceived by the praise, for he knew perfectly
well that his efforts up to the present had been anything but
beautiful, was nevertheless encouraged, and put all he knew into his
hits. Occasionally Joe Bevan would push out his left glove. Then, if
Sheen's guard was in the proper place and the push did not reach its
destination, Joe would mutter a word of praise. If Sheen dropped his
right hand, so that he failed to stop the blow, Bevan would observe,
"Keep that guard up, sir!" with almost a pained intonation, as if he
had been disappointed in a friend.

The constant repetition of this maxim gradually drove it into Sheen's
head, so that towards the end of the lesson he no longer lowered his
right hand when he led with his left; and he felt the gentle pressure
of Joe Bevan's glove less frequently. At no stage of a pupil's
education did Joe Bevan hit him really hard, and in the first few
lessons he could scarcely be said to hit him at all. He merely rested
his glove against the pupil's face. On the other hand, he was urgent in
imploring the pupil to hit _him_ as hard as he could.

"Don't be too kind, sir," he would chant, "I don't mind being hit. Let
me have it. Don't flap. Put it in with some weight be