Almost involuntarily he staggered up to receive another blow which senthim down again.

　　"That'll do," said a voice.

　　Sheen got up, panting. Between him and his assailant stood a short,sturdy man in a tweed suit. He was waving Albert back, and Albertappeared to be dissatisfied. He was arguing hotly with the newcomer.

　　"Now, you go away," said that worthy, mildly, "just you go away."Albert gave it as his opinion that the speaker would do well not tocome interfering in what didn't concern him. What he wanted, assertedAlbert, was a thick ear.

　　"Coming pushing yourself in," added Albert querulously.

　　"You go away," repeated the stranger. "You go away. I don't want tohave trouble with you."Albert's reply was to hit out with his left hand in the direction ofthe speaker's face. The stranger, without fuss, touched the back ofAlbert's wrist gently with the palm of his right hand, and Albert,turning round in a circle, ended the manoeuvre with his back towardshis opponent. He faced round again irresolutely. The thing hadsurprised him.

　　"You go away," said the other, as if he were making the observation forthe first time.

　　"It's Joe Bevan," said one of Albert's friends, excitedly.

　　Albert's jaw fell. His freckled face paled.

　　"You go away," repeated the man in the tweed suit, whose conversationseemed inclined to run in a groove.

　　This time Albert took the advice. His friends had already taken it.

　　"Thanks," said Sheen.

　　"Beware," said Mr Bevan oracularly, "of entrance to a quarrel; but,being in, bear't that th' opposed may beware of thee. Always counterback when you guard. When a man shows you his right like that, alwayspush out your hand straight. The straight left rules the boxing world.

　　Feeling better, sir?""Yes, thanks.""He got that right in just on the spot. I was watching. When you see aman coming to hit you with his right like that, don't you draw back.

　　Get on top of him. He can't hit you then."That feeling of utter collapse, which is the immediate result of a blowin the parts about the waistcoat, was beginning to pass away, and Sheennow felt capable of taking an interest in sublunary matters once more.

　　His ear smarted horribly, and when he put up a hand and felt it thepain was so great that he could barely refrain from uttering a cry.

　　But, however physically battered he might be, he was feeling happierand more satisfied with himself than he had felt for years. He had beenbeaten, but he had fought his best, and not given in. Some portion ofhis self-respect came back to him as he reviewed the late encounter.

　　Mr Bevan regarded him approvingly.

　　"He was too heavy for you," he said. "He's a good twelve stone, I makeit. I should put you at ten stone--say ten stone three. Call it ninestone twelve in condition. But you've got pluck, sir."Sheen opened his eyes at this surprising statement.

　　"Some I've met would have laid down after getting that first hit, butyou got up again. That's the secret of fighting. Always keep going on.

　　Never give in. You know what Shakespeare says about the one who firstcries, 'Hold, enough!' Do you read Shakespeare, sir?""Yes," said Sheen.

　　"Ah, now _he_ knew his business," said Mr Bevan enthusiastically.

　　"_There_ was ring-craft, as you may say. _He_ wasn't a novice."Sheen agreed that Shakespeare had written some good things in his time.

　　"That's what you want to remember. Always keep going on, as the sayingis. I was fighting Dick Roberts at the National--an American, he was,from San Francisco. He come at me with his right stretched out, and Ithink he's going to hit me with it, when blessed if his left don't comeout instead, and, my Golly! it nearly knocked a passage through me.

　　Just where that fellow hit you, sir, he hit me. It was just at the endof the round, and I went back to my corner. Jim Blake was seconding me.

　　'What's this, Jim?' I says, 'is the man mad, or what?' 'Why,' he says,'he's left-handed, that's what's the matter. Get on top of him.' 'Geton top of him? I says. 'My Golly, I'll get on top of the roof if he'sgoing to hit me another of those.' But I kept on, and got close to him,and he couldn't get in another of them, and he give in after theseventh round.""What competition was that?" asked Sheen.

　　Mr Bevan laughed. "It was a twenty-round contest, sir, for seven-fiftyaside and the Light Weight Championship of the World."Sheen looked at him in astonishment. He had always imaginedprofessional pugilists to be bullet-headed and beetle-browed to a man.

　　He was not prepared for one of Mr Joe Bevan's description. For all themarks of his profession that he bore on his face, in the shape of lumpsand scars, he might have been a curate. His face looked tough, and hiseyes harboured always a curiously alert, questioning expression, as ifhe were perpetually "sizing up" the person he was addressing. Butotherwise he was like other men. He seemed also to have a pretty tastein Literature. This, combined with his strong and capable air,attracted Sheen. Usually he was shy and ill at ease with strangers. JoeBevan he felt he had known all his life.

　　"Do you still fight?" he asked.

　　"No," said Mr Bevan, "I gave it up. A man finds he's getting on, as thesaying is, and it don't do to keep at it too long. I teach and I train,but I don't fight now."A sudden idea flashed across Sheen's mind. He was still glowing withthat pride which those who are accustomed to work with their brainsfeel when they have gone honestly through some labour of the hands. Atthat moment he felt himself capable of fighting the world and beatingit. The small point, that Albert had knocked him out of time in lessthan a minute, did not damp him at all. He had started on the rightroad. He had done something. He had stood up to his man till he couldstand no longer. An unlimited vista of action stretched before him. Hehad tasted the pleasure of the fight, and he wanted more.

　　Why, he thought, should he not avail himself of Joe Bevan's services tohelp him put himself right in the eyes of the house? At the end of theterm, shortly before the Public Schools' Competitions at Aldershot,inter-house boxing cups were competed for at Wrykyn. It would be adramatic act of reparation to the house if he could win theLight-Weight cup for it. His imagination, jumping wide gaps, did notadmit the possibility of his not being good enough to win it. In thescene which he conjured up in his mind he was an easy victor. Afterall, there was the greater part of the term to learn in, and he wouldhave a Champion of the World to teach him.

　　Mr Bevan cut in on his reflections as if he had heard them by someprocess of wireless telegraphy.

　　"Now, look here, sir," he said, "you should let me give you a fewlessons. You're plucky, but you don't know the game as yet. Andboxing's a thing every one ought to know. Supposition is, you'recrossing a field or going down a street with your sweetheart or yourwife--"Sheen was neither engaged nor married, but he let the point pass.

　　--"And up comes one of these hooligans, as they call 'em. What are yougoing to do if he starts his games? Why, nothing, if you can't box. Youmay be plucky, but you can't beat him. And if you beat him, you'll gethalf murdered yourself. What you want to do is to learn to box, andthen what happens? Why, as soon as he sees you shaping, he says tohimself, 'Hullo, this chap knows too much for me. I'm off,' and off heruns. Or supposition is, he comes for you. You don't mind. Not you. Yougive him one punch in the right place, and then you go off to your tea,leaving him lying there. He won't get up.""I'd like to learn," said Sheen. "I should be awfully obliged if you'dteach me. I wonder if you could make me any good by the end of theterm. The House Competitions come off then.""That all depends, sir. It comes easier to some than others. If youknow how to shoot your left out straight, that's as good as six months'

　　teaching. After that it's all ring-craft. The straight left beats theworld.""Where shall I find you?""I'm training a young chap--eight stone seven, and he's got to get downto eight stone four, for a bantam weight match--at an inn up the riverhere. I daresay you know it, sir. Or any one would tell you where itis. The 'Blue Boar,' it's called. You come there any time you like toname, sir, and you'll find me.""I should like to come every day," said Sheen. "Would that be toooften?""Oftener the better, sir. You can't practise too much.""Then I'll start next week. Thanks very much. By the way, I shall haveto go by boat, I suppose. It isn't far, is it? I've not been up theriver for some time, The School generally goes down stream.""It's not what you'd call far," said Bevan. "But it would be easier foryou to come by road.""I haven't a bicycle.""Wouldn't one of your friends lend you one?"Sheen flushed.

　　"No, I'd better come by boat, I think. I'll turn up on Tuesday at aboutfive. Will that suit you?""Yes, sir. That will be a good time. Then I'll say good bye, sir, forthe present."Sheen went back to his house in a different mood from the one in whichhe had left it. He did not care now when the other Seymourites lookedthrough him.

　　In the passage he met Linton, and grinned pleasantly at him.

　　"What the dickens was that man grinning at?" said Linton to himself. "Imust have a smut or something on my face."But a close inspection in the dormitory looking-glass revealed noblemish on his handsome features.