The Pothunters | Page 3

at any time to have one's arms
and legs kneaded like bread, and it is especially pleasant if one is at all
nervous. It sends a glow through the entire frame. Like somebody's
something it is both grateful and comforting.
Tony's seconds were curious specimens of humanity. One was a
gigantic soldier, very gruff and taciturn, and with decided leanings
towards pessimism. The other was also a soldier. He was in every way
his colleague's opposite. He was half his size, had red hair, and was
bubbling over with conversation. The other could not interfere with his
hair or his size, but he could with his conversation, and whenever he
attempted a remark, he was promptly silenced, much to his disgust.
'Plenty o' moosle 'ere, Fred,' he began, as he rubbed Tony's left arm.
'Moosle ain't everything,' said the other, gloomily, and there was
silence again.
'Are you ready? Seconds away,' said the referee.
'Time!'
The two stood up to one another.
The Wellington representative was a plucky boxer, but he was not in
the same class as Tony. After a few exchanges, the latter got to work,
and after that there was only one man in the ring. In the middle of the

second round the referee stopped the fight, and gave it to Tony, who
came away as fresh as he had started, and a great deal happier and more
confident.
'Did us proud, Fred,' began the garrulous man.
'Yes, but that 'un ain't nothing. You wait till he meets young Thomson.
I've seen 'im box 'ere three years, and never bin beat yet. Three
bloomin' years. Yus.'
This might have depressed anybody else, but as Tony already knew all
there was to be known about Allen's skill with the gloves, it had no
effect upon him.
A sanguinary heavy-weight encounter was followed by the first bout of
the feathers and the second of the light-weights, and then it was Allen's
turn to fight the Harrow representative.
It was not a very exciting bout. Allen took things very easily. He knew
his training was by no means all it should have been, and it was not his
game to take it out of himself with any firework business in the trial
heats. He would reserve that for the final. So he sparred three gentle
rounds with the Harrow sportsman, just doing sufficient to keep the
lead and obtain the verdict after the last round. He finished without
having turned a hair. He had only received one really hard blow, and
that had done no damage. After this came a long series of fights. The
heavy-weights shed their blood in gallons for name and fame. The
feather-weights gave excellent exhibitions of science, and the
light-weight pairs were fought off until there remained only the final to
be decided, Robinson, of St Paul's, against a Charterhouse boxer.
In the middle-weights there were three competitors still in the running,
Allen, Tony, and a Felsted man. They drew lots, and the bye fell to
Tony, who put up an uninteresting three rounds with one of the soldiers,
neither fatiguing himself very much. Henderson, of Felsted, proved a
much tougher nut to crack than Allen's first opponent. He was a rushing
boxer, and in the first round had, if anything, the best of it. In the last
two, however, Allen gradually forged ahead, gaining many points by
his perfect style alone. He was declared the winner, but he felt much
more tired than he had done after his first fight.
By the time he was required again, however, he had had plenty of
breathing space. The final of the light-weights had been decided, and
Robinson, of St Paul's, after the custom of Paulines, had set the crown

upon his afternoon's work by fighting the Carthusian to a standstill in
the first round. There only remained now the finals of the heavies and
middles.
It was decided to take the latter first.
Tony had his former seconds, and Dawkins had come to his corner to
see him through the ordeal.
'The 'ole thing 'ere,' he kept repeating, 'is to keep goin' 'ard all the time
and wear 'im out. He's too quick for you to try any sparrin' with.'
'Yes,' said Tony.
'The 'ole thing,' continued the expert, 'is to feint with your left and 'it
with your right.' This was excellent in theory, no doubt, but Tony felt
that when he came to put it into practice Allen might have other
schemes on hand and bring them off first.
'Are you ready? Seconds out of the ring.... Time!'
'Go in, sir, 'ard,' whispered the red-haired man as Tony rose from his
place.
Allen came up looking pleased with matters in general. He gave Tony a
cousinly grin as they shook hands. Tony did not respond.