Against this there was the evidence of Joe Bevan. Joe had said that Sheen was worthy to fight for his school, and Joe knew.
Mr. Spence went to bed still in a state of doubt.
Next morning he hit upon a solution of the difficulty. Wandering in the grounds before school, he came upon O’Hara, who, as has been stated before, had won the Lightweights at Aldershot in the previous year. He had come to Wrykyn for the Sports. Here was the man to help him. O’Hara should put on the gloves with Sheen and report.
“I’m in rather a difficulty, O’Hara,” he said, “and you can help me.”
“What’s that?” inquired O’Hara.
“You know both our lightweights are on the sick list? I had just resigned myself to going down to Aldershot without anyone to box, when a boy in Seymour’s volunteered for the vacant place. I don’t know if you knew him at school? Sheen. Do you remember him?”
“Sheen?” cried O’Hara in amazement. “Not Sheen!”
His recollections of Sheen were not conducive to a picture of him as a public-school boxer.
“Yes. I had never heard of him as a boxer. Still, he seems very anxious to go down, and he certainly has one remarkable testimonial, and as there’s no one else—”
“And what shall I do?” asked O’Hara.
“I want you, if you will, to give him a trial in the dinner-hour. Just see if he’s any good at all. If he isn’t, of course, don’t hit him about a great deal. But if he shows signs of being a useful man, extend him. See what he can do.”
“Very well, sir,” said O’Hara.
“And you might look in at my house at teatime, if you have nothing better to do, and tell me what you think of him.”
At five o’clock, when he entered Mr. Spence’s study, O’Hara’s face wore the awestruck look of one who had seen visions.
“Well?” said Mr. Spence. “Did you find him any good?”
“Good?” said O’Hara. “He’ll beat them all. He’s a champion. There’s no stopping him.”
“What an extraordinary thing!” said Mr. Spence.
XX
Sheen Goes to Aldershot
At Sheen’s request Mr. Spence made no announcement of the fact that Wrykyn would be represented in the Lightweights. It would be time enough, Sheen felt, for the School to know that he was a boxer when he had been down and shown what he could do. His appearance in his new role would be the most surprising thing that had happened in the place for years, and it would be a painful anticlimax if, after all the excitement which would be caused by the discovery that he could use his hands, he were to be defeated in his first bout. Whereas, if he happened to win, the announcement of his victory would be all the more impressive, coming unexpectedly. To himself he did not admit the possibility of defeat. He had braced himself up for the ordeal, and he refused to acknowledge to himself that he might not come out of it well. Besides, Joe Bevan continued to express hopeful opinions.
“Just you keep your head, sir,” he said, “and you’ll win. Lots of these gentlemen, they’re champions when they’re practising, and you’d think nothing wouldn’t stop them when they get into the ring. But they get wild directly they begin, and forget everything they’ve been taught, and where are they then? Why, on the floor, waiting for the referee to count them out.”
This picture might have encouraged Sheen more if he had not reflected that he was just as likely to fall into this error as were his opponents.
“What you want to remember is to keep that guard up. Nothing can beat that. And push out your left straight. The straight left rules the boxing world. And be earnest about it. Be as friendly as you like afterwards, but while you’re in the ring say to yourself, ‘Well, it’s you or me,’ and don’t be too kind.”
“I wish you could come down to second me, Joe,” said Sheen.
“I’ll have a jolly good try, sir,” said Joe Bevan. “Let me see. You’ll be going down the night before—I can’t come down then, but I’ll try and manage it by an early train on the day.”
“How about Francis?”
“Oh, Francis can look after himself for one day. He’s not the sort of boy to run wild if he’s left alone for a few hours.”
“Then you think you can manage it?”
“Yes, sir. If I’m not there for your first fight, I shall come in time to second you in the final.”
“If I get there,” said Sheen.
“Good seconding’s half the battle. These soldiers they give you at Aldershot—well, they don’t know the business, as the saying is. They don’t look after their man, not like I could. I saw young what’s-his-name, of Rugby—Stevens: he was beaten in the final by a gentleman from Harrow—I saw him fight there a couple of years ago. After the first round he was leading—not by much, but still, he was a point or two ahead. Well! He went to his corner and his seconds sent him up for the next round in the same state he’d got there in. They hadn’t done a thing to him. Why, if I’d been in his corner I’d have taken him and sponged him and sent him up again as fresh as he could be. You must have a good second if you’re to win. When you’re all on top of your man, I
