on doctor to the
best-known mon 'twixt here and Bradford. Thou art a witherin' tyke,
thou art, and no mistake; and if thou beat the Master of Croxley,
thou'll find all the beer thou want for the rest of thy life waiting for
thee at the 'Four Sacks.'"

"It is the most sporting thing I ever heard of in my life," said young
Wilson. "By George, sir, if you pull it off, you've got the
constituency in your pocket, if you care to stand. You know the
out-house in my garden?"

"Next the road?"

"Exactly. I turned it into a gymnasium for Ted Barton. You'll find all
you want there: clubs, punching ball, bars, dumb-bells, everything.
Then you'll want a sparring partner. Ogilvy has been acting for Barton,
but we don't think that he is class enough. Barton bears you no grudge.
He's a good-hearted fellow, though cross-grained with strangers. He
looked upon you as a stranger this morning, but he says he knows you
now. He is quite ready to spar with you for practice, and he will come
any hour you will name."

"Thank you; I will let you know the hour," said Montgomery; and so the
committee departed jubilant upon their way.

The medical assistant sat for a time in the surgery turning it over a
little in his mind. He had been trained originally at the University by
the man who had been middle-weight champion in his day. It was true
that his teacher was long past his prime, slow upon his feet, and stiff
in his joints, but even so he was still a tough antagonist; but
Montgomery had found at last that he could more than hold his own with
him. He had won the University medal, and his teacher, who had trained
so many students, was emphatic in his opinion that he had never had one
who was in the same class with him. He had been exhorted to go in for
the Amateur Championships, but he had no particular ambition in that
direction. Once he had put on the gloves with Hammer Tunstall in a
booth at a fair and had fought three rattling rounds, in which he had
the worst of it, but had made the prize fighter stretch himself to the
uttermost. There was his whole record, and was it enough to encourage
him to stand up to the Master of Croxley? He had never heard of the
Master before, but then he had lost touch of the ring during the last
few years of hard work. After all, what did it matter? If he won,
there was the money, which meant so much to him. If he lost, it would
only mean a thrashing. He could take punishment without flinch