The ex-champion smiled. “His lordship was taking it very easily today.”
“What, fighting shy?” said the Colonel, with a twinkle.
“No, not shy; just trifling,” said Jackson. “But you should be coming to me more regularly, Colonel. It was bellows to mend with you after three minutes of it, and I don’t like those plunges of yours.”
“Trying to land you a facer, Jackson,” grinned the Colonel.
“You won’t do it like that, sir,” said Jackson, shaking his head. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll go over and set Mr. Fitzjohn to a little singlestick with one of my young men.”
“Oh ay, we’re just off,” said Armstrong. “Are you coming, Worth?”
“Yes, I’m coming,” answered the Earl. He looked at Jackson. “Do what you can with my ward. And, Jackson, by the way—on that other matter, I feel sure I can rely on your discretion.”
“You can always be sure of that, my lord.”
The Earl nodded, and went out with his friend. Mr. Jackson turned his attention to the new-comers, matched Mr. Fitzjohn at singlestick with one of his instructors, and stood critically by while Peregrine, stripped to the waist, hit out at a punchball. He presently took the eager young man on in a sparring match, gave Mr. Fitzjohn a turn, and dismissed them both to cool off.
“Oh, damn it, why can’t I pop in a good one over your guard?” panted Mr. Fitzjohn. “I try hard enough!”