y glove fight takes place. You may find yourself molested by
the blackguards whom it will attract."

"I will take my chance of that, sir," said the assistant.

On the Friday night, which was the last night before the fight,
Montgomery's three backers assembled in the gymnasium and inspected
their man as he went through some light exercises to keep his muscles
supple. He was certainly in splendid condition, his skin shining with
health, and his eyes with energy and confidence. The three walked round
him and exulted.

"He's simply ripping!" said the undergraduate.

"By gad, you've come out of it splendidly. You're as hard as a pebble,
and fit to fight for your life."

"Happen he's a trifle on the fine side," said the publican. "Runs a bit
light at the loins, to my way of thinking'."

"What weight to-day?"

"Ten stone eleven," the assistant answered.

"That's only three pund off in a week's trainin'," said the
horse-breaker. "He said right when he said that he was in condition.
Well, it's fine stuff all there is of it, but I'm none so sure as there
is enough." He kept poking his finger into Montgomery as if he were one
of his horses. "I hear that the Master will scale a hundred and sixty
odd at the ring-side."

"But there's some of that which he'd like well to pull off and leave
behind wi' his shirt," said Purvis. "I hear they've had a rare job to
get him to drop his beer, and if it had not been for that great
red-headed wench of his they'd never ha' done it. She fair scratted the
face off a potman that had brought him a gallon from t' 'Chequers.'
They say the hussy is his sparrin' partner, as well as his sweetheart,
and that his poor wife is just breakin' her heart over it. Hullo, young
'un, what do you want?"

The door of the gymnasium had opened and a lad, about sixteen, grimy and
black with soot and iron, stepped into the yellow glare of the oil lamp.
Ted Barton seized him by the collar.

"See here, thou yoong whelp, this is private, and we want noan o' thy
spyin'!"

"But I maun speak to Mr. Wilson."

The young Cantab stepped forward.

"Well, my lad, what is it?"

"It's aboot t' fight, Mr. Wilson, sir. I wanted to tell your mon
somethin' aboot t' Maister."

"We've no time to listen to gossip, my boy. We know all about the
Master."

"But thou doan't, sir. Nobody knows but me and mother, and we thought
as we'd like thy mon to know, sir, for we want him to fair bray him."

"Oh, you w