“Yes, he’s here, sir. Unsteady hand, the Slogger—can’t keep him off his lush. Always breaks down in his training. I’ve stood twenty on him twice, but it’s no good. So he’s give up work, and comes here regular to spar. Worst of him is he will get on, late, and make a row. You remember Mr. Maynard paid his fines and took him out twice. He’s better than he used to be. I had to tell him that he must give it up, or clear out, for he got my place a bad name.” “I want to have a talk with him, Perkins. A man named Barton,—I believe, from what John Holl says, you have met him at his place,—has got some papers relating to a cousin of Mr. Maynard’s. This man Barton is a great scoundrel, and I don’t know how to get at him, but I hear that the Slogger thinks he has got some sort of hold over him.” “Yes,” Perkins said, “I told Holl about it. I know the Slogger thinks it is a great pull, but he ain’t a very long-headed chap, ain’t the Slogger. However, Mr. Prescott, you can talk to him. Here, Bill,” he called to a boy, “go upstairs and tell the Slogger he’s wanted down here.” The boy returned with word that the Slogger was at present in the ring with Nobbler Jack, but would be down shortly. In a few minutes the Slogger himself appeared, very hot, very red in the face, and a little puffed about the lips. “Servant, Mr. Prescott!” he said, “long time since I saw you.” “Yes, Slogger, I’ve been too busy and am getting too stiff to do much with the gloves now. Sit down and take something to drink.” “Gin cold is my liquor, sir.” “Now, Mr. Prescott,” Perkins said, when he had brought in the required refreshment, “I’ll leave you to talk it over with the Slogger. I’ll just go upstairs and see how things are getting on.” “This business I want to speak to you about, Slogger, concerns Mr. Maynard and myself, and I rely upon you to do anything you can for us.” “That I will, sir,” the man said heartily. “Mr. Maynard and you have been good friends to me, and I’m your man now. Who is it, sir? I’ll tumble against him somehow, and give him pepper. I don’t care if I get six months for it, not a snap, sir, not for you and Mr. Maynard.” Prescott laughed. “It is not in that line, Slogger, and if it was you know Mr. Maynard could do it for himself.” “So he could, sir, none better; still he mightn’t like to get in the papers, you know. I hoped I might have done him a good turn.” “So you can, Slogger, but not in that line. You know a man named Barton?” “That I do,” the man said angrily. “He got my brother Bill transported. But I’ll be even with him some day.”