He looked me in the eye and I knew that he told the truth.
"What chance has Jerry of winning, Flynn?" I asked.
"Ah, there ye've got me, sor. Jerry's a rare one, he is, and plucky—and quick as any man of his weight in the wor-rld—but Clancy is a good 'un, too—young, strong as a bull an' expayrienced. Fought steady for three years, an' winning, sor. He'll have the confidence—but Masther Jerry is a wonder. He'll have a chanct, sor, more than an even chanct, I'd say, if he don't waste nothin'."
"Waste nothing?"
"He's got to land, sor—every time and waste no whiffs on nothin'."
"I see."
Flynn was eyeing the door impatiently. He was a busy man and had no time to answer foolish questions.
"There's no chance of getting out of it?" I asked.
"None, sor. He couldn't quit now. Ye wouldn't want him to, would you, sor?" he finished in a reproachful tone, which just missed being disagreeable.
I opened the door and he lost no time in getting to the gymnasium.