ith. It's very inconvenient, though."

"Not so inconvenient as having to explain things at the Olympia
to-morrow night," remarked Malcolm Sage drily. "Now," he continued,
turning once more to Alf Pond, "I suppose you've all got something
on this fight."

"Something on it!" cried Alf Pond; then, turning to the
sparring-partners, he cried, "He asks if we've got somethink on it.
My Gawd!" he groaned, "we got our shirts on it. That's what we got
on it, our shirts," and his voice broke in something like a sob.

"You had better post someone at the gate to tell all enquirers that
Burns is doing well and is confident of winning," said Malcolm Sage
to Mr. Doulton, "and keep an eye on the telephone. Tell anyone who
rings up the same; in fact"--and he turned to the others--"as far as
you are concerned, Burns is still with you. Do you understand?"

They looked at one another in a way that was little suggestive of
understanding.

"Did Burns wear the same clothes throughout the day?" asked Malcolm
Sage of the trainer.

"Course he didn't!" Alf Pond made no effort to disguise the contempt
he felt. "In the daytime he used to wear flannel trousers an' a
sweater, same as me, except when he was sparrin', then he put on
drawers. Always would have everythink same as it was goin' to be,
would Charley--seconds, referee, timekeeper. Said it made him feel
at home when the time came. Quaint he was in some of his ideas."

"Then from the time he got up until bedtime he wore the same
clothes?" queried Malcolm Sage, without looking up from the
inevitable contemplation of his finger-nails.

"No he didn't." Alf Pond spat his boredom at these useless questions
into a far corner. "He was always a bit of a nib, was Charley. After
he'd finished the day's work he'd put on a suit o' dark duds, a
white collar, a watch on his wrist, an' all that bunko. Then we'd
play poker or billiards till half-past eight, when we'd all turn
in." The look with which Alf Pond concluded this itinerary plainly
demanded if there were any more damn silly questions coming.

"Now I should like to see Burns's room."

Malcolm Sage and Mr. Doulton followed Alf Pond upstairs to a large
room on the first floor, as destitute of the attributes of comfort
as a guardroom. A bed, a wash-hand stand, and a chest of drawers
comprised the furniture. A few articles of clothing were strewn
about, and in one corner lay a pair of dumb-bells.

The windows were open top and bottom. Malcol