Sheen improved. He took to boxing as he had taken to fives. He foundthat his fives helped him. He could get about on his feet quickly, andhis eye was trained to rapid work.
His second lesson was not encouraging. He found that he had learnedjust enough to make him stiff and awkward, and no more. But he kept on,and by the end of the first week Joe Bevan declared definitely that hewould do, that he had the root of the matter in him, and now requiredonly practice.
"I wish you could see like I can how you're improving," he said at theend of the sixth lesson, as they were resting after five minutes'
exercise with the medicine-ball. "I get four blows in on some of thegentlemen I teach to one what I get in on you. But it's like riding.
When you can trot, you look forward to when you can gallop. And whenyou can gallop, you can't see yourself getting on any further. Butyou're improving all the time.""But I can't gallop yet," said Sheen.
"Well, no, not gallop exactly, but you've only had six lessons. Why, inanother six weeks, if you come regular, you won't know yourself. You'llbe making some of the young gentlemen at the college wish they hadnever been born. You'll make babies of them, that's what you'll do.""I'll bet I couldn't, if I'd learnt with some one else," said Sheen,sincerely. "I don't believe I should have learnt a thing if I'd gone tothe school instructor.""Who is your school instructor, sir?""A man named Jenkins. He used to be in the army.""Well, there, you see, that's what it is. I know old George Jenkins. Heused to be a pretty good boxer in his time, but there! boxing's athing, like everything else, that moves with the times. We used to goabout in iron trucks. Now we go in motor-cars. Just the same withboxing. What you're learning now is the sort of boxing that winschampionship fights nowadays. Old George, well, he teaches you how toput your left out, but, my Golly, he doesn't know any tricks. He hasn'tstudied it same as I have. It's the ring-craft that wins battles. Nowsir, if you're ready."They put on the gloves again. When the round was over, Mr Bevan hadfurther comments to make.
"You don't hit hard enough, sir," he said. "Don't flap. Let it comestraight out with some weight behind it. You want to be earnest in thering. The other man's going to do his best to hurt you, and you've gotto stop him. One good punch is worth twenty taps. You hit him. And whenyou've hit him, don't you go back; you hit him again. They'll only giveyou three rounds in any competition you go in for, so you want to dothe work you can while you're at it."As the days went by, Sheen began to imbibe some of Joe Bevan's ruggedphilosophy of life. He began to understand that the world is a placewhere every man has to look after himself, and that it is the strongerhand that wins. That sentence from _Hamlet_ which Joe Bevan was sofond of quoting practically summed up the whole duty of man--and boytoo. One should not seek quarrels, but, "being in," one should do one'sbest to ensure that one's opponent thought twice in future beforeseeking them. These afternoons at the "Blue Boar" were gradually givingSheen what he had never before possessed--self-confidence. He wasbeginning to find that he was capable of something after all, that inan emergency he would be able to keep his end up. The feeling added azest to all that he did. His work in school improved. He looked at theGotford no longer as a prize which he would have to struggle to win. Hefelt that his rivals would have to struggle to win it from him.
After his twelfth lesson, when he had learned the ground-work of theart, and had begun to develop a style of his own, like some nervousbatsman at cricket who does not show his true form till he has been atthe wickets for several overs, the dog-loving Francis gave him a trial.
This was a very different affair from his spars with Joe Bevan. FrankHunt was one of the cleverest boxers at his weight in England, but hehad not Joe Bevan's gift of hitting gently. He probably imagined thathe was merely tapping, and certainly his blows were not to be comparedwith those he delivered in the exercise of his professional duties;but, nevertheless, Sheen had never felt anything so painful before, noteven in his passage of arms with Albert. He came out of the encounterwith a swollen lip and a feeling that one of his ribs was broken, andhe had not had the pleasure of landing a single blow upon his slipperyantagonist, who flowed about the room like quicksilver. But he had notflinched, and the statement of Francis, as they shook hands, that hehad "done varry well," was as balm. Boxing is one of the few sportswhere the loser can feel the same thrill of triumph as the winner.
There is no satisfaction equal to that which comes when one has forcedoneself to go through an ordeal from which one would have liked to haveescaped.
"Capital, sir, capital," said Joe Bevan. "I wanted to see whether youwould lay down or not when you began to get a few punches. You didcapitally, Mr Sheen.""I didn't hit him much," said Sheen with a laugh.
"Never mind, sir, you got hit, which was just as good. Some of thegentlemen I've taught wouldn't have taken half that. They're all rightwhen they're on top and winning, and to see them shape you'd say toyourself, By George, here's a champion. But let 'em get a punch or two,and hullo! says you, what's this? They don't like it. They lay down.
But you kept on. There's one thing, though, you want to keep that guardup when you duck. You slip him that way once. Very well. Next time he'swaiting for you. He doesn't hit straight. He hooks you, and you don'twant many of those."Sheen enjoyed his surreptitious visits to the "Blue Boar." Twice heescaped being caught in the most sensational way; and once Mr Spence,who looked after the Wrykyn cricket and gymnasium, and playedeverything equally well, nearly caused complications by inviting Sheento play fives with him after school. Fortunately the Gotford affordedan excellent excuse. As the time for the examination drew near, thosewho had entered for it were accustomed to become hermits to a greatextent, and to retire after school to work in their studies.
"You mustn't overdo it, Sheen," said Mr Spence. "You ought to get someexercise.""Oh, I do, sir," said Sheen. "I still play fives, but I play beforebreakfast now."He had had one or two games with Harrington of the School House, whodid not care particularly whom he played with so long as his opponentwas a useful man. Sheen being one of the few players in the school whowere up to his form, Harrington ignored the cloud under which Sheenrested. When they met in the world outside the fives-courts Harringtonwas polite, but made no overtures of friendship. That, it may bementioned, was the attitude of every one who did not actually cutSheen. The exception was Jack Bruce, who had constituted himselfaudience to Sheen, when the latter was practising the piano, on twofurther occasions. But then Bruce was so silent by nature that for allpractical purposes he might just as well have cut Sheen like theothers.
"We might have a game before breakfast some time, then," said MrSpence.
He had noticed, being a master who did notice things, that Sheenappeared to have few friends, and had made up his mind that he wouldtry and bring him out a little. Of the real facts of the case, he knewof course, nothing.
"I should like to, sir," said Sheen.
"Next Wednesday?""All right, sir.""I'll be there at seven. If you're before me, you might get the secondcourt, will you?"The second court from the end nearest the boarding-house was the bestof the half-dozen fives-courts at Wrykyn. After school sometimes youwould see fags racing across the gravel to appropriate it for theirmasters. The rule was that whoever first pinned to the door a piece ofpaper with his name on it was the legal owner of the court-and it was astirring sight to see a dozen fags fighting to get at the door. Butbefore breakfast the court might be had with less trouble.
* * * * *Meanwhile, Sheen paid his daily visits to the "Blue Boar," losing fleshand gaining toughness with every lesson. The more he saw of Joe Bevanthe more he liked him, and appreciated his strong, simple outlook onlife. Shakespeare was a great bond between them. Sheen had always beena student of the Bard, and he and Joe would sit on the little verandahof the inn, looking over the river, until it was time for him to rowback to the town, quoting passages at one another. Joe Bevan'sknowledge, of the plays, especially the tragedies, was wide, and atfirst inexplicable to Sheen. It was strange to hear him declaiming longspeeches from _Macbeth_ or _Hamlet_, and to think that he wasby profession a pugilist. One evening he explained his curiouserudition. In his youth, before he took to the ring in earnest, he hadtravelled with a Shakespearean repertory company. "I never played astar part," he confessed, "but I used to come on in the Battle ofBosworth and in Macbeth's castle and what not. I've been First Citizensometimes. I was the carpenter in _Julius Caesar_. That was mybiggest part. 'Truly sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, asyou would say, a cobbler.' But somehow the stage--well..._you_know what it is, sir. Leeds one week, Manchester the next, Brighton theweek after, and travelling all Sunday. It wasn't quiet enough for me."The idea of becoming a professional pugilist for the sake of peace andquiet tickled Sheen. "But I've always read Shakespeare ever sincethen," continued Mr Bevan, "and I always shall read him."It was on the next day that Mr Bevan made a suggestion which drewconfidences from Sheen, in his turn.
"What you want now, sir," he said, "is to practise on someone of aboutyour own form, as the saying is. Isn't there some gentleman friend ofyours at the college who would come here with you?"They were sitting on the verandah when he asked this question. It wasgrowing dusk, and the evening seemed to invite confidences. Sheen,looking out across the river and avoiding his friend's glance,explained just what it was that made it so difficult for him to producea gentleman friend at that particular time. He could feel Mr Bevan'seye upon him, but he went through with it till the thing wastold--boldly, and with no attempt to smooth over any of the unpleasantpoints.
"Never you mind, sir," said Mr Bevan consolingly, as he finished. "Weall lose our heads sometimes. I've seen the way you stand up toFrancis, and I'll eat--I'll eat the medicine-ball if you're not asplucky as anyone. It's simply a question of keeping your head. Youwouldn't do a thing like that again, not you. Don't you worry yourself,sir. We're all alike when we get bustled. We don't know what we'redoing, and by the time we've put our hands up and got into shape, why,it's all over, and there you are. Don't you worry yourself, sir.""You're an awfully good sort, Joe," said Sheen gratefully.
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