e, stretching
and eructating in true Rabelaisian fashion.

"A stroll in the Park, byes, now. And then--the feathers," said Flynn,
passing the chewing gum.

"A fine lot, ain't they, Mr. Benham?" said Jerry to me as they filed
out.

"Extraordinary," I replied, with a fictitious smile, "most
extraordinary."

He grinned at me and followed them.

It was not until the next day in the hour between road and gym work
that I managed to get Flynn aside. He had thus far succeeded in
avoiding me, but I caught him by the arm as he was passing, dragged
him into my study and shut the door.

"See here, Flynn," I said with some warmth, "it's not my affair to
interfere with any of Mr. Benham's plans. He's his own master now and
can do what he pleases, but you and I have always been good enough
friends, and I should like to know just how much or how little you've
had to do with getting the boy into this match at the Garden--"

He looked at me quizzically for a moment and then grinned.

"Ye've got a right to ask me that, Mr. Canby. An' I'll give ye a fair
answer. I had nothin' to do wid it, sor--honor bright--" He paused and
grinned again. "Mind ye, I'm not sayin' I'm sorry he's doin' it, for I
won't lie to ye. I'd like to see him lick Sailor Clancy an' I'm doin'
my best to help him to it. But for havin' a hand in puttin' Masther
Jerry up to the game ye can count me out. 'Twas Masther Jerry himself,
sor. He got it into his head someway an' there was no gettin' rid of
it. I made the match for the bye because he wanted it--an' that's a
fact--nothin' else."

He looked me in the eye and I knew that he told the truth.

"What chance has Jerry of winning, Flynn?" I asked.

"Ah, there ye've got me, sor. Jerry's a rare one, he is, and
plucky--and quick as any man of his weight in the wor-rld--but Clancy
is a good 'un, too--young, strong as a bull an' expayrienced. Fought
steady for three years, an' winning, sor. He'll have the
confidence--but Masther Jerry is a wonder. He'll have a chanct, sor,
more than an even chanct, I'd say, if he don't waste nothin'."

"Waste nothing?"

"He's got to land, sor--every time and waste no whiffs on nothin'."

"I see."

Flynn was eyeing the door impatiently. He was a busy man and had no
time to answer foolish questions.

"There's no chance of getting out of it?" I asked.

"None, sor. He couldn't quit now. Ye wouldn't want him to, would you,
sor?" he finished in a reproachful tone, which just mi