“Very good, Belcher,” I heard my uncle say.
“It would be a real pleasure to me to do it, sir,” and the famous prize-fighter, as the two walked towards us.
“I wished to ask you, Jim Harrison, whether you would undertake to be my champion in the fight against Crab Wilson of Gloucester?” said my uncle.
“That is what I want, Sir Charles—to have a chance of fighting my way upwards.”
“There are heavy stakes upon the event—very heavy stakes,” said my uncle. “You will receive two hundred pounds, if you win. Does that satisfy you?”
“I shall fight for the honour, and because I wish to be thought worthy of being matched against Jem Belcher.”
Belcher laughed good-humouredly.
“You are going the right way about it, lad,” said he. “But you had a soft thing on to-night with a drunken man who was out of condition.”
“I did not wish to fight him,” said Jim, flushing.
“Oh, I know you have spirit enough to fight anything on two legs. I knew that the instant I clapped eyes on you; but I want you to remember that when you fight Crab Wilson, you will fight the most promising man from the west, and that the best man of the west is likely to be the best man in England. He’s as quick and as long in the reach as you are, and he’ll train himself to the last half-ounce of tallow. I tell you this now, d’ye see, because if I’m to have the charge of you—”