“Yes; boxing. I want you to teach us.”
“Yes, I was a dabster at it when I was in the —th. We had no end of it, and we lads used to have a regular subscription round to buy new gloves. Oh yes, I gave lessons to the officers regularly. Long time since I’ve had the gloves on, but I could handle my fists as well as ever, I daresay.”
“Then you’ll teach us?”
“Teach you? No, no, my lads. Infantry drill; clubs and dumb-bells; singlestick and foil; riding with a military seat; but—use of the gloves! Oh dear no! What do you think the Doctor would say?”
“But he won’t know, Lom, and we’ll pay you, honour bright.”
“I know you would, Master Mercer; and if this young gent, whose father was in the cavalry—”
“Yes, at Chilly—” began Mercer.
“Wallah, sir,” said Lomax severely. “If he says he’ll pay me, of course he would. But no, sir, no. Besides, we’ve got no gloves, and boxing-gloves—two pairs—cost money.”
“Of course. I know they would, but we’d buy them, or you should for us, and then we could come here now and then, and you could teach us in your room, and nobody would know.”
“No, sir, no,” said the sergeant, shaking his head.