"You take your two minutes, Francis," said Mr Bevan, "and then have a turn with the ball. Come this way, Mr—"
"Sheen."
"Come this way, Mr Sheen, and I'll show you where to put on your things."
Sheen had brought his football clothes with him. He had not put them on for a year.
"That's the lad I was speaking of. Getting on prime, he is. Fit to fight for his life, as the saying is."
"What was he doing when I came in?"
"Oh, he always has three rounds like that every day. It teaches you to get about quick. You try it when you get back, Mr Sheen. Fancy you're fighting me."
"Are you sure I'm not interrupting you in the middle of your work?" asked Sheen.
"Not at all, sir, not at all. I just have to rub him down, and give him his shower-bath, and then he's finished for the day."
Having donned his football clothes and returned to the gymnasium, Sheen found Francis in a chair, having his left leg vigorously rubbed by Mr Bevan.