“Don’t be so touchy,” scowled Kelley.  “Tackle der bag a while, an’ let’s see how yer work.”

Browning went at the punching bag while the professor stood by and called the changes.  He thumped it up against the ceiling and caught it on the rebound thirty times in succession, first with his right and then with his left.  Then he went at it with both hands and fairly made it hum.  Then, at the word, with remarkable swiftness, he gave it fist and elbow, first right and then left.  Then he did some fancy work at a combination hit and butt.

By the time Buster called him off Browning was streaming with perspiration and breathing heavily.

“Dat’s first rate,” complimented the professor.  “Yer does dat like yer wuz a perfessional.”

“Great Scott!” gasped Bruce.  “I’d never torture myself in this way if I didn’t have to!  It is awful!”

He looked around for a chair, but Buster grinned and said: 

“Dat’s right, set right down—­nit.  Youse don’t do dat no more in dis joint.  Wen I gits yer yere, yer works till yer t’rough—­see?  Dat’s der way ter pull der meat off er man.”

“Well, what’s next?”

“See if yer can raise yer record anoder pound on der striker.”

Bruce went at the striking machine, which registered the exact number of pounds of force in each blow it received.

“Has any one beaten me yet?” he asked.

“Naw.  Dere ain’t nobody come within ninety pound of yer.”

Bruce looked satisfied, but he made up his mind to raise his record if possible, and he succeeded in adding twelve pounds to it.

“Say!” exclaimed Buster, “if dat cove wot yer arter does you he’s a boid!”

“That’s just what he is,” nodded Bruce, streaming with perspiration.  “He is a bad man to go against.”

“If yer ever gits at him wid dat left ye’ll knock him out, sure.”

“He is like a panther on his feet, and I shall be in great luck if I find him with my left.”

“Yer don’t want ter t’ink dat.  Yer wants ter t’ink yer goin’ ter find him anyhow.  Dat’s der way.”

“I have thought so before, and I have discovered that he is a wonderfully hard man to find.”

“Wen yer goin’ ter fight him?”

“I am going to try to make him meet me one week from to-day.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Is he a squealer?”

“I don’t believe you could drag anything out of him with horses.”

“If dat’s right yer might make it yere, an’ it could be kept quiet.  I’d charge a little somet’ing fer der use of der room, but dat wouldn’t come out of eder of youse, fer we’d make der fellers pay wot come in ter see it.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Bruce.  “But now I want to know that trick.”

“Oh, yes.  I near fergot dat.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“Say, if yer use dat on him I don’t t’ink we can have der scrap here.”