"An empty stomach neither sees nor thinks," was Malcolm Sage's oracular retort, and he went over to the window and seated himself at his writing-table.
For the next half-hour he was engaged with his correspondence, and in telephoning instructions to his office.
By the time Mr. Doulton had breakfasted and shaved, the car was at the door.
During the run to Stainton both men were silent. Mr. Doulton was speculating as to what would happen at the Olympia on the following night if Burns failed to appear, whilst Malcolm Sage was occupied with thoughts, the object of which was to prevent such a catastrophe.
"They're sure to say it's a yellow streak," Mr. Doulton burst out on one occasion; but, as Malcolm Sage took no notice of the remark, he subsided into silence, and the car hummed its way along the Portsmouth Road.
Burns's training-quarters were situated at Stainton, near Guildford. Here, under the vigilant eye of Alf Pond, and with the help of a large retinue of sparring-partners, he was getting himself into what had come to be called "Burns's condition," which meant that he would enter the ring trained to the minute. Never did athlete work more conscientiously than Charley Burns.
As the car turned into a side road, flanked on either hand by elms,
Mr. Doulton tapped on the wind-screen, and Tims pulled up. Malcolm
Sage had requested that the car be stopped a hundred yards before it
reached "The Grove," where the training quarters were situated.
"Wait for me here," he said, as he got out.
"It's the first gate on the right," said Mr. Doulton.
Walking slowly away from the car, Malcolm Sage examined with great care the road itself. Presently he stopped and, taking from his pocket a steel spring-measure, he proceeded to measure a portion of the surface of the dusty roadway. Having made several entries in a note-book, he then turned back to the car, his eyes still on the road.