“Lumpiness isn’t always strength. Give me nerve and fire and breed. That’s what wins.”
“Ay, sir, you have it theer—you have it theer!” said the fat, red-faced publican, in a thick suety voice. “It’s the same wi’ poops. Get ’em clean-bred an’ fine, an’ they’ll yark the thick ’uns—yark ’em out o’ their skins.”
“He’s ten good pund on the light side,” growled the horse-breaker.
“He’s a welter weight, anyhow.”
“A hundred and thirty.”
“A hundred and fifty, if he’s an ounce.”
“Well, the Master doesn’t scale much more than that.”
“A hundred and seventy-five.”
“That was when he was hog-fat and living high. Work the grease out of him and I lay there’s no great difference between them. Have you been weighed lately, Mr. Montgomery?”
It was the first direct question which had been asked him. He had stood in the midst of them like a horse at a fair, and he was just beginning to wonder whether he was more angry or amused.