"Yaas, sir," said the negro. "I'm almost through."

"Brought the mittens with you, too?"

"Yaas, sir, I have the feather beds."

"Then when you've peeled we'll start."

The Coon put down his spade and slipped behind a stall.

"You see, young 'un, the sergeant at the gym is a good old hand, but he
is an old hand, so to speak--hasn't got the polish. Seeing that at
Aldershot they tie us down to a very few rounds, if St. Amory's have to
make any show at all they must get all the points they can first round or
so. That's why I've got the Coon down here. He is the most scientific
boxer we have."

"The figure will be pretty stiff, Acton, eh?"

"No matter about that if I can beat Jarvis. By the way, Bourne, you need
not say anything about this to any one. I have particular reasons for
keeping this quiet."

"All serene. I'm mum, of course."

"Thanks. You watch the Coon, and you'll pick up no end of wrinkles."

The Coon came out from behind the stall dressed in a vest, trousers, and
thin boots; his black arms were bare, and he had exchanged his cigar for
a straw, which he chewed vigorously. Acton changed his shoes and took off