"It's metal more attractive, I believe," hazarded Motyer. "A little bird's been telling us things in Bridport. Keep clear of the petticoats, old chap—the game's never worth the candle. I speak from experience."
"Do you? I shouldn't think any girl would have much use for you."
"Oh yes, they have—plenty of them. But once bit, twice shy. I had an adventure last year."
"I don't want to hear it."
Neddy showed concern.
"You're all over the shop, Ray. These blessed works are knocking the stuffing out of you and spoiling your temper. Are you coming to the 'smoker' at 'The Tiger' next month?"
"No."
"Well, do. You want bucking. It'll be a bit out of the common. Jack Buckler's training at 'The Tiger' for his match with Solly Blades. You know—eliminating round for middle-weight championship. And he's going to spar three rounds with our boy from the tannery—Tim Chick."
"I heard about it from one of our girls here—a cousin of Tim's. But I'm off that sort of thing."
"Since when?"