“I am sure I am very much obliged to you,” cried Jim, heartily.  “Unless my uncle should wish to train me, there is no one I would rather have.”

“Nay, Jim; I’ll stay with you a few days, but Belcher knows a deal more about training than I do.  Where will the quarters be?”

“I thought it would be handy for you if we fixed it at the George, at Crawley.  Then, if we have choice of place, we might choose Crawley Down, for, except Molesey Hurst, and, maybe, Smitham Bottom, there isn’t a spot in the country that would compare with it for a mill.  Do you agree with that?”

“With all my heart,” said Jim.

“Then you’re my man from this hour on, d’ye see?” said Belcher.  “Your food is mine, and your drink is mine, and your sleep is mine, and all you’ve to do is just what you are told.  We haven’t an hour to lose, for Wilson has been in half-training this month back.  You saw his empty glass to-night.”

“Jim’s fit to fight for his life at the present moment,” said Harrison.  “But we’ll both come down to Crawley to-morrow.  So good night, Sir Charles.”

“Good night, Roddy,” said Jim.  “You’ll come down to Crawley and see me at my training quarters, will you not?”

And I heartily promised that I would.

“You must be more careful, nephew,” said my uncle, as we rattled home in his model vis-a-vis.  “En premiere jeunesse one is a little inclined to be ruled by one’s heart rather than by one’s reason.  Jim Harrison seems to be a most respectable young fellow, but after all he is a blacksmith’s apprentice, and a candidate for the prize-ring.  There is a vast gap between his position and that of my own blood relation, and you must let him feel that you are his superior.”

“He is the oldest and dearest friend that I have in the world, sir,” I answered.  “We were boys together, and have never had a secret from each other.  As to showing him that I am his superior, I don’t know how I can do that, for I know very well that he is mine.”

“Hum!” said my uncle, drily, and it was the last word that he addressed to me that night.

CHAPTER XII—­THE COFFEE-ROOM OF FLADONG’S

So Boy Jim went down to the George, at Crawley, under the charge of Jim Belcher and Champion Harrison, to train for his great fight with Crab Wilson, of Gloucester, whilst every club and bar parlour of London rang with the account of how he had appeared at a supper of Corinthians, and beaten the formidable Joe Berks in four rounds.  I remembered that afternoon at Friar’s Oak when Jim had told me that he would make his name known, and his words had come true sooner than he could have expected it, for, go where one might, one heard of nothing but the match between Sir Lothian Hume and Sir Charles Tregellis, and the points of the two probable combatants.  The betting was still steadily in favour of Wilson, for he had a number of bye-battles to set against this single victory of Jim’s, and it was thought by connoisseurs who had seen him spar that the singular defensive tactics which had given him his nickname would prove very puzzling to a raw antagonist.  In height, strength, and reputation for gameness there was very little to choose between them, but Wilson had been the more severely tested.