The dressing was like a thing in a dream, and so was a vision of the Master with the grin of a bulldog upon his face, and his three teeth amiably protruded. He shook Montgomery heartily by the hand.
“I would have been rare pleased to shake thee by the throttle, lad, a short while syne,” said he. “But I bear no ill-feeling again’ thee. It was a rare poonch that brought me down—I have not had a better since my second fight wi’ Billy Edwards in ’89. Happen thou might think o’ goin’ further wi’ this business. If thou dost, and want a trainer, there’s not much inside t’ ropes as I don’t know. Or happen thou might like to try it wi’ me old style and bare knuckles. Thou hast but to write to t’ iron-works to find me.”
But Montgomery disclaimed any such ambition. A canvas bag with his share—190 sovereigns—was handed to him, of which he gave ten to the Master, who also received some share of the gate-money. Then, with young Wilson escorting him on one side, Purvis on the other, and Fawcett carrying his bag behind, he went in triumph to his carriage, and drove amid a long roar, which lined the highway like a hedge for the seven miles, back to his starting-point.
“It’s the greatest thing I ever saw in my life. By George, it’s ripping!” cried Wilson, who had been left in a kind of ecstasy by the events of the day. “There’s a chap over Barnsley way who fancies himself a bit. Let us spring you on him, and let him see what he can make of you. We’ll put up a purse—won’t we, Purvis? You shall never want a backer.”
“At his weight,” said the publican, “I’m behind him, I am, for twenty rounds, and no age, country, or colour barred.”
“So am I,” cried Fawcett; “middle-weight champion of the world, that’s what he is—here, in the same carriage with us.”
But Montgomery was not to be beguiled.
“No; I have my own work to do now.”
“And what may that be?”
“I’ll use this money to get my medical degree.”