"It's Joe Bevan," said one of Albert's friends, excitedly.

Albert's jaw fell. His freckled face paled.

"You go away," repeated the man in the tweed suit, whose conversation
seemed inclined to run in a groove.

This time Albert took the advice. His friends had already taken it.

"Thanks," said Sheen.

"Beware," said Mr Bevan oracularly, "of entrance to a quarrel; but,
being in, bear't that th' opposed may beware of thee. Always counter
back when you guard. When a man shows you his right like that, always
push out your hand straight. The straight left rules the boxing world.
Feeling better, sir?"

"Yes, thanks."

"He got that right in just on the spot. I was watching. When you see a
man coming to hit you with his right like that, don't you draw back.
Get on top of him. He can't hit you then."

That feeling of utter collapse, which is the immediate result of a blow
in the parts about the waistcoat, was beginning to pass away, and Sheen
now felt capable of taking an interest in sublunary matters once more.
His ear smarted horribly, and when he put up a hand and felt it the
pain was so great that he could barely refrain from uttering a cry.
But, however physically battered he might be, he was feeling happier