“On my bicycle.  I had a puncture.  That must have been it.  And there was a lot of traffic.”

“Keep it up, sir!” roared Jenkins imperatively.  “What’s the matter with that left arm?”

Click went Jimmy’s lower jaw.

“Dear little chap!” muttered Dion, full of sympathetic interest.  “He’s doing splendidly.”

“You really think so?”

“Couldn’t be better.”

“You understand boys?”

“Better than I understand women, I expect,” Dion returned, with a sudden thought of Rosamund at home and the wonderful Turkish songs Mrs. Clarke wished to show to her.

Mrs. Clarke said nothing, and just at that moment Jenkins announced: 

“That’ll do for to-day, sir.”

In a flood of perspiration Jimmy turned round, redder than ever, his chest heaving, his mouth open, and his eyes, but without any conceit, asking for a word of praise from Dion, who went to clap him on the shoulder.

“Capital!  Hallo!  What muscles we’re getting!  Eh, Jenkins?”

“Master Jimmy’s not doing badly, sir.  He puts his heart into it.  That I must say.”

Jimmy shone through the red and the perspiration.

“He sticks it,” continued Jenkins, in his loud voice.  “Without grit there’s nothing done.  That’s what I always tell my pupils.”

“I say”—­began Jimmy, at last finding a small voice—­“I say, Mr. Leith, you haven’t hurried over it.”

“Over what?”

“Letting me see you again.  Why, it’s—­”

“Run along to the bath, sir.  You’ve got to have it before you cool down,” interposed the merciless Jenkins.

And Jimmy made off with an instant obedience which showed his private opinion of the god who was training him.

When he was gone Jenkins turned to Dion and looked him over.

“Haven’t seen much of you, sir, lately,” he remarked.

“No, I’ve been busy,” returned Dion, feeling slightly uncomfortable as he remembered that the reason for his absence from the Harrow Road was listening to the conversation.

“Going to have a round with the gloves now you are here, sir?” pursued Jenkins.

Dion looked at Mrs. Clarke.

“Well, I hadn’t thought of it,” he said, rather doubtfully.

“Just as you like, sir.”

“Do, Mr. Leith,” said Mrs. Clarke, getting up from the hard chair, and standing close to the medicine ball with her back to the vaulting-horse.  “Jimmy and I are going in a moment.  You mustn’t bother about us.”

“Well, but how are you going home?”

“We shall walk.  Of course have your boxing.  It will do you good.”

“You’re right there, ma’am,” said Jenkins, with a sort of stern approval.  “Mr. Leith’s been neglecting his exercises lately.”

“Oh, I’ve been doing a good deal in odd times with the Rifle Corps.”

“I don’t know anything about that, sir.”

“All right, I’ll go and change,” said Dion, who always kept a singlet and flannels at the gymnasium.  “Then——­” he turned to Mrs. Clarke as if about to say good-by.