"I thought you were the only fellow who could show Hodgson anything."
"No," said Phil. "I never was as good as Hodgson. I always made a point of making him go all the way to win on principle, but he always had a pull more or less over me. You see, Hodgson is lazy, and he wanted some one to challenge the right to represent the school, or I don't fancy he'd have put in enough good work to stand much chance against the Eton man. Therefore I stepped into the breach, and, by sweating him, have made Hodgson from a very fair boxer into a good one—good, but nothing super-excellent."
"Then who's been lying low all this time?"
"Acton."
"Acton?" said I, in utter astonishment. "Why, didn't our dear Theodore dress him down once for losing his temper in the gym?"
"He did, my boy, and Acton repaid the compliment to-night—with interest. He opened our eyes for us. I'm telling the bare truth when I say that he simply played with Theodore, and at the third round he as good as knocked him out."
I stared into the fire for a minute or two, thinking out this news.
"Eureka!" said I. "I've found it!"
"What?"
"The reason Acton crops up here. He cannot forget an injury. Hodgson humbled him once, and so Acton must needs take away from Theodore his own peculiar pet ambition, which is to represent St. Amory's at Aldershot in the Heavy."