“Lord, sir, that’s a turble poor poonch for an eleven-stone man!” he would cry.  “Thou wilt have to hit harder than that afore t’ Master will know that thou art theer.  All, thot’s better, mon, thot’s fine!” he would add, as his opponent lifted him across the room on the end of a right counter.  “Thot’s how I likes to feel ’em.  Happen thou’lt pull through yet.”  He chuckled with joy when Montgomery knocked him into a corner.  “Eh, mon, thou art coming along grand.  Thou hast fair yarked me off my legs.  Do it again, lad, do it again!”

The only part of Montgomery’s training which came within the doctor’s observation was his diet, and that puzzled him considerably.

“You will excuse my remarking, Mr. Montgomery, that you are becoming rather particular in your tastes.  Such fads are not to be encouraged in one’s youth.  Why do you eat toast with every meal?”

“I find that it suits me better than bread, sir.”

“It entails unnecessary work upon the cook.  I observe, also, that you have turned against potatoes.”

“Yes, sir; I think that I am better without them.”

“And you no longer drink your beer?”

“No, sir.”

“These causeless whims and fancies are very much to be deprecated, Mr. Montgomery.  Consider how many there are to whom these very potatoes and this very beer would be most acceptable.”

“No doubt, sir, but at present I prefer to do without them.”

They were sitting alone at lunch, and the assistant thought that it would be a good opportunity of asking leave for the day of the fight.

“I should be glad if you could let me have leave for Saturday, Dr. Oldacre.”

“It is very inconvenient upon so busy a day.”

“I should do a double day’s work on Friday so as to leave everything in order.  I should hope to be back in the evening.”

“I am afraid I cannot spare you, Mr. Montgomery.”

This was a facer.  If he could not get leave he would go without it.

“You will remember, Dr. Oldacre, that when I came to you it was understood that I should have a clear day every month.  I have never claimed one.  But now there are reasons why I wish to have a holiday upon Saturday.”

Dr. Oldacre gave in with a very bad grace.  “Of course, if you insist upon your formal rights, there is no more to be said, Mr. Montgomery, though I feel that it shows a certain indifference to my comfort and the welfare of the practice.  Do you still insist?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good.  Have your way.”

The doctor was boiling over with anger, but Montgomery was a valuable assistant—­steady, capable, and hardworking—­and he could not afford to lose him.  Even if he had been prompted to advance those class fees, for which his assistant had appealed, it would have been against his interests to do so, for he did not wish him to qualify, and he desired him to remain in his subordinate position, in which he worked so hard for so small a wage.  There was something in the cool insistence of the young man, a quiet resolution in his voice as he claimed his Saturday, which aroused his curiosity.