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. Answering to the names of Tim and Tom. Beggars forrats, yes. And plucked 'uns? Well--he would like to see, would Francis,a dog that Tim or Tom would not stand up to. Clever, too. Why once--Joe Bevan cut his soliloquy short at this point by leading him off toanother room for his shower-bath; but before he went he expressed adesire to talk further with Sheen on the subject of dogs, and, learningthat Sheen would be there every day, said he was glad to hear it. Headded that for a brother dog-lover he did not mind stretching a point,so that, if ever Sheen wanted a couple of rounds any day, he, Francis,would see that he got them. This offer, it may be mentioned, Sheenaccepted with gratitude, and the extra practice he acquired thereby wassubsequently of the utmost use to him. Francis, as a boxer, excelled inwhat is known in pugilistic circles as shiftiness. That is to say, hehad a number of ingenious ways of escaping out of tight corners; andthese he taught Sheen, much to the latter's profit.
But this was later, when the Wrykinian had passed those preliminarystages on which he was now to embark.
The art of teaching boxing really well is a gift, and it is given tobut a few. It is largely a matter of personal magnetism, and, aboveall, sympathy. A man may be a fine boxer himself, up to every move ofthe game, and a champion of champions, but for all that he may not be agood teacher. If he has not the sympathy necessary for the appreciationof the difficulties experienced by the beginner, he cannot produce goodresults. A boxing instructor needs three qualities--skill, sympathy,and enthusiasm. Joe Bevan had all three, particularly enthusiasm. Hisheart was in his work, and he carried Sheen with him. "Beautiful, sir,beautiful," he kept saying, as he guarded the blows; and Sheen, thoughtoo clever to be wholly deceived by the praise, for he knew perfectlywell that his efforts up to the present had been anything butbeautiful, was nevertheless encouraged, and put all he knew into hishits. Occasionally Joe Bevan would push out his left glove. Then, ifSheen's guard was in the proper place and the push did not reach itsdestination, Joe would mutter a word of praise. If Sheen dropped hisright hand, so that he failed to stop the blow, Bevan would observe,"Keep that guard up, sir!" with almost a pained intonation, as if hehad been disappointed in a friend.
The constant repetition of this maxim gradually drove it into Sheen'shead, so that towards the end of the lesson he no longer lowered hisright hand when he led with his left; and he felt the gentle pressureof Joe Bevan's glove less frequently. At no stage of a pupil'seducation did Joe Bevan hit him really hard, and in the first fewlessons he could scarcely be said to hit him at all. He merely restedhis glove against the pupil's face. On the other hand, he was urgent inimploring the pupil to hit _him_ as hard as he could.
"Don't be too kind, sir," he would chant, "I don't mind being hit. Letme have it. Don't flap. Put it in with some weight behind it." He wasalso fond of mentioning that extract from Polonius' speech to Laertes,which he had quoted to Sheen on their first meeting.
Sheen finished his first lesson, feeling hotter than he had ever feltin his life.
"Hullo, sir, you're out of condition," commented Mr Bevan. "Have a bitof a rest."Once more Sheen had learnt the lesson of his weakness. He could hardlyrealise that he had only begun to despise himself in the lastfortnight. Before then, he had been, on the whole, satisfied withhimself. He was brilliant at work, and would certainly get ascholarship at Oxford or Cambridge when the time came; and he hadspecialised in work to the exclusion of games. It is bad to specialisein games to the exclusion of work, but of the two courses the latter isprobably the less injurious. One gains at least health by it.
But Sheen now understood thoroughly, what he ought to have learned fromhis study of the Classics, that the happy mean was the thing at whichto strive. And for the future he meant to aim at it. He would get theGotford, if he could, but also would he win the house boxing at hisweight.
After he had rested he discovered the use of the big ball beneath thetable. It was soft, but solid and heavy. By throwing this--themedicine-ball, as they call it in the profession--at Joe Bevan, andcatching it, Sheen made himself very hot again, and did the muscles ofhis shoulders a great deal of good.
"That'll do for today, then, sir." said Joe Bevan. "Have a good rubdown tonight, or you'll find yourself very stiff in the morning.""Well, do you think I shall be any good?" asked Sheen.
"You'll do fine, sir. But remember what Shakespeare says.""About vaulting ambition?""No, sir, no. I meant what Hamlet says to the players. 'Nor do not sawthe air too much, with your hand, thus, but use all gently.' That'swhat you've got to remember in boxing, sir. Take it easy. Easy and cooldoes it, and the straight left beats the world."* * * * *Sheen paddled quietly back to the town with the stream, pondering overthis advice. He felt that he had advanced another step. He was notfoolish enough to believe that he knew anything about boxing as yet,but he felt that it would not be long before he did.
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