“It is precisely for that reason, Sir John, that I am laying odds of two to one in his favour.”
“May I ask,” said the Prince, “what the exact height and weight of Wilson may be?”
“Five foot eleven and thirteen-ten, your Royal Highness.”
“Long enough and heavy enough for anything on two legs,” said Jackson, and the professionals all murmured their assent.
“Read the rules of the fight, Sir Lothian.”
“The battle to take place on Tuesday, May the 18th, at the hour of ten in the morning, at a spot to be afterwards named. The ring to be twenty foot square. Neither to fall without a knock-down blow, subject to the decision of the umpires. Three umpires to be chosen upon the ground, namely, two in ordinary and one in reference. Does that meet your wishes, Sir Charles?”
My uncle bowed.
“Have you anything to say, Wilson?”
The young pugilist, who had a curious, lanky figure, and a craggy, bony face, passed his fingers through his close-cropped hair.
“If you please, zir,” said he, with a slight west-country burr, “a twenty-voot ring is too small for a thirteen-stone man.”