"No, sir."
"In the country?"
"Yes, sir."
"You are very wise. You will find a quiet day among the wild flowers a very valuable restorative. Had you thought of any particular direction?"
"I am going over Croxley way."
"Well, there is no prettier country when once you are past the iron-works. What could be more delightful than to lie upon the Fells, basking in the sunshine, with perhaps some instructive and elevating book as your companion? I should recommend a visit to the ruins of St. Bridget's Church, a very interesting relic of the early Norman era. By the way, there is one objection which I see to your going to Croxley on Saturday. It is upon that date, as I am informed, that that ruffianly glove-fight takes place. You may find yourself molested by the blackguards whom it will attract."
"I will take my chance of that, sir," said the assistant.
On the Friday night, which was the last before the fight, Montgomery's three backers assembled in the gymnasium and inspected their man as he went through some light exercises to keep his muscles supple. He was certainly in splendid condition, his skin shining with health, and his eyes with energy and confidence. The three walked round him and exulted.
"He's simply ripping!" said the undergraduate. "By gad, you've come out of it splendidly. You're as hard as a pebble, and fit to fight for your life."
"Happen he's a trifle on the fine side," said the publican. "Runs a bit light at the loins, to my way of thinkin'."