The Pothunters

'Where have I seen that face before?' said a voice. Tony Graham looked up from his bag.
'Hullo, Allen,' he said, 'what the dickens are you up here for?'
'I was rather thinking of doing a little boxing. If you've no objection, of course.'
'But you ought to be on a bed of sickness, and that sort of thing. I heard you'd crocked yourself.'
'So I did. Nothing much, though. Trod on myself during a game of fives, and twisted my ankle a bit.'
'In for the middles, of course?'
'Yes.'
'So am I.'
'Yes, so I saw in the Sportsman . It says you weigh eleven-three.'
'Bit more, really, I believe. Shan't be able to have any lunch, or I shall have to go in for the heavies. What are you?'
'Just eleven. Well, let's hope we meet in the final.'
'Rather,' said Tony.