“Sit down, Mr. Prescott, and light up; these cigars are a good brand. Now, sir, name your liquor?”
Prescott named his liquor, Perkins himself mixed it, and then having left the charge of the bar to his assistant, took his seat by Prescott.
“Bobbish, Mr. Prescott, bobbish. No great shakes, perhaps, but nothing to grumble about. I don’t think the young swells are quite what they were. Stroll in, you know, and look on, but don’t go in so much for work as they used to do. Don’t take their punishment so kindly, you know. Bad job that about Mr. Maynard, sir. Heard about it from John Holl, Holl’s boy being in his service. Now, he was what I call first-rate, just first-rate. Shoulder a little too low, perhaps, but I defy any man to point out another blemish. Wonderful quick for a heavy weight, and such a hitter. I tell you what, Mr. Prescott, though I shouldn’t like it to go further, I never put on the gloves with any man that I felt so unsafe with as with Mr. Maynard. He stood just a little over me. He was as active on his pins as a kitten, and very quick with his head. He didn’t mind how hard you hit him, never lost his temper, but was always there, and then, just when you didn’t expect it, out would come his left like a sledge-hammer, and his right after it. Ah, he was a out-and-outer. A champion spoilt, sir, I call him, a champion spoilt. I’d have backed him against the Slasher, sir, and put every halfpenny I had on it.”
“Yes, he is an awkward customer, Perkins. And now what’s going on upstairs?”
“There’s a few of the old lot, and half a dozen novices; will you walk up presently, sir?”
“Yes, he’s here, sir. Unsteady hand, the Slogger—can’t keep him off his lush. Always breaks down in his training. I’ve stood twenty on him twice, but it’s no good. So he’s give up work, and comes here regular to spar. Worst of him is he will get on, late, and make a row. You remember Mr. Maynard paid his fines and took him out twice. He’s better than he used to be. I had to tell him that he must give it up, or clear out, for he got my place a bad name.”
“I want to have a talk with him, Perkins. A man named Barton,—I believe, from what John Holl says, you have met him at his place,—has got some papers relating to a cousin of Mr. Maynard’s. This man Barton is a great scoundrel, and I don’t know how to get at him, but I hear that the Slogger thinks he has got some sort of hold over him.”