The "Blue Boar" was a picturesque inn, standing on the bank of theriver Severn. It was much frequented in the summer by fishermen, whospent their days in punts and their evenings in the old oak parlour,where a picture in boxing costume of Mr Joe Bevan, whose brother wasthe landlord of the inn, gazed austerely down on them, as if hedisapproved of the lamentable want of truth displayed by the majorityof their number. Artists also congregated there to paint theivy-covered porch. At the back of the house were bedrooms, to which thefishermen would make their way in the small hours of a summer morning,arguing to the last as they stumbled upstairs. One of these bedrooms,larger than the others, had been converted into a gymnasium for the useof mine host's brother. Thither he brought pugilistic aspirants whowished to be trained for various contests, and it was the boast of the"Blue Boar" that it had never turned out a loser. A reputation of thiskind is a valuable asset to an inn, and the boxing world thought highlyof it, in spite of the fact that it was off the beaten track. Certainlythe luck of the "Blue Boar" had been surprising.
Sheen pulled steadily up stream on the appointed day, and after half anhour's work found himself opposite the little landing-stage at the footof the inn lawn.
His journey had not been free from adventure. On his way to the town hehad almost run into Mr Templar, and but for the lucky accident of thatgentleman's short sight must have been discovered. He had reached thelanding-stage in safety, but he had not felt comfortable until he waswell out of sight of the town. It was fortunate for him in the presentcase that he was being left so severely alone by the school. It was anadvantage that nobody took the least interest in his goings andcomings.
Having moored his boat and proceeded to the inn, he was directedupstairs by the landlord, who was an enlarged and coloured edition ofhis brother. From the other side of the gymnasium door came anunceasing and mysterious shuffling sound.
He tapped at the door and went in.
He found himself in a large, airy room, lit by two windows and a broadskylight. The floor was covered with linoleum. But it was the furniturethat first attracted his attention. In a farther corner of the room wasa circular wooden ceiling, supported by four narrow pillars. From thecentre of this hung a ball, about the size of an ordinary football. Tothe left, suspended from a beam, was an enormous leather bolster. Onthe floor, underneath a table bearing several pairs of boxing-gloves, askipping-rope, and some wooden dumb-bells, was something that lookedlike a dozen Association footballs rolled into one. All the rest of theroom, a space some few yards square, was bare of furniture. In thisspace a small sweater-clad youth, with a head of light hair croppedvery short, was darting about and ducking and hitting out with bothhands at nothing, with such a serious, earnest expression on his facethat Sheen could not help smiling. On a chair by one of the windows MrJoe Bevan was sitting, with a watch in his hand.
As Sheen entered the room the earnest young man made a sudden dash athim. The next moment he seemed to be in a sort of heavy shower offists. They whizzed past his ear, flashed up from below within an inchof his nose, and tapped him caressingly on the waistcoat. Just as theshower was at its heaviest his assailant darted away again,side-stepped an imaginary blow, ducked another, and came at him oncemore. None of the blows struck him, but it was with more than a littlepleasure that he heard Joe Bevan call "Time!" and saw the active younggentleman sink panting into a seat.
"You and your games, Francis!" said Joe Bevan, reproachfully. "This isa young gentleman from the college come for tuition.""Gentleman--won't mind--little joke--take it in spirit whichis--meant," said Francis, jerkily.
Sheen hastened to assure him that he had not been offended.
"You take your two minutes, Francis," said Mr Bevan, "and then have aturn with the ball. Come this way, Mr--""Sheen.""Come this way, Mr Sheen, and I'll show you where to put on yourthings."Sheen had brought his football clothes with him. He had not put them onfor a year.
"That's the lad I was speaking of. Getting on prime, he is. Fit tofight for his life, as the saying is.""What was he doing when I came in?""Oh, he always has three rounds like that every day. It teaches you toget about quick. You try it when you get back, Mr Sheen. Fancy you'refighting me.""Are you sure I'm not interrupting you in the middle of your work?"asked Sheen.
"Not at all, sir, not at all. I just have to rub him down, and give himhis shower-bath, and then he's finished for the day."Having donned his football clothes and returned to the gymnasium, Sheenfound Francis in a chair, having his left leg vigorously rubbed by MrBevan.
"You fon' of dargs?" inquired Francis affably, looking up as he camein.
Sheen replied that he was, and, indeed, was possessed of one. Theadmission stimulated Francis, whose right leg was now under treatment,to a flood of conversation. He, it appeared, had always been one fordargs. Owned two. Answ............