“What sort of a place is this road house we’re going to?” inquired Frank.
“It’s all right,” answered Fillmore. “The fellows go out there often. Hastings knows how to use us. Occasionally we pull off a little scrap out there. He has a room fitted up for it, and I’ve seen some right good fights in his place. Not regular prize fights, you know, but bouts between amateurs. If you want the real thing, you’ll have to go to the old Armory.”
“I’m not at all particular about the real thing,” confessed Merry. “Prize fighting is a bit out of my line.”
“Seems to me I’ve heard that you were something of a boxer.”
“Oh, I know a little about it; but what I know I learned for the purpose of being able to defend myself when necessary. I have a belief that every fellow should be able to do that.”
“That’s right, too,” said Hackett. “Lots of fellows take lessons of Galway, at Hastings’.”
“Who’s Galway?”
“He’s a boxing master, and a great fighter himself. He knocked out Johnny Neil at the Armory two weeks ago, and Neil had ambitions to meet Jeffries. When he gets mad he sometimes hammers a pupil. He hangs round Hastings’ place the most of the time.”
“If he didn’t lush he’d be a wonder,” put in Fillmore. “He has an awful wallop. Puts ’em all to sleep.”
“I don’t think Mr. Galway interests me,” laughed Merry. “I shall take pains to keep clear of him.”