amateur, do you?"

"Oh, no," said Skene, soothingly; "not so bad as that. But mind you,
my boy, I don't call no man a fighting-man what ain't been in the
ring. You're a sparrer, and a clever, pretty sparrer; but sparring
ain't the real thing. Some day, please God, we'll make up a little
match for you, and show what you can do without the gloves."

"I would just as soon have the gloves off as on," said the novice, a
little sulkily.

"That's because you have a heart as big as a lion," said Skene,
patting him on the shoulder. But the novice, who was accustomed to
hear his master pay the same compliment to his patrons whenever they
were seized with fits of boasting (which usually happened when they
got beaten), looked obdurate and said nothing.

"Sam Ducket, of Milltown, was here to-day while you was out giving
Captain Noble his lesson," continued Skene, watching his
apprentice's face cunningly. "Now Sam is a real fighting-man, if you
like."

"I don't think much of him. He's a liar, for one thing."

"That's a failing of the profession. I don't mind telling YOU so,"
said Skene, mournfully. Now the novice had found out this for
himself, already. He never, for instance, believed the accounts
which his master gave of the accidents and conspiracies which had
led to his being defeated three times in the ring. However, as Skene
had won fifteen battles, his next remark was undeniable. "Men fight