The novice flushed. “I wish I had been here when Sum Ducket said that.”
“Why, what could you ha’ done to him?” said Skene, his small eyes twinkling.
“I’d have punched his head; that’s what I could and would have done to him.”
“Why, man, he’d eat you.”
“He might. And he might eat you too, Ned, if he had salt enough with you. He talks big because he knows I have no money; and he pretends he won’t strip for less than fifty pounds a side.”
“No money!” cried Skene. “I know them as’ll make up fifty pound before twelve to-morrow for any man as I will answer for. There’d be a start for a young man! Why, my fust fight was for five shillings in Tott’nam Fields; and proud I was when I won it. I don’t want to set you on to fight a crack like Sam Ducket anyway against your inclinations; but don’t go for to say that money isn’t to be had. Let Ned Skene pint to a young man and say, ‘That’s the young man as Ned backs,’ and others will come for’ard—ay, crowds of ‘em.”
The novice hesitated. “Do you think I ought to, Ned?” he said.
“That ain’t for me to say,” said Skene, doggedly. “I know what I would ha’ said at your age. But perhaps you’re right to be cautious. I tell you the truth, I wouldn’t care to see you whipped by the like of Sam Ducket.”
“Will you train me if I challenge him?”
“Will I train you!” echoed Skene, rising with enthusiasm. “Ay will I train you, and put my money on you, too; and you shall knock fireworks out of him, my boy, as sure as my name’s Ned Skene.”