It was clear that Berks had got to the stage when he must fight some one. His heavy face was gorged and the veins stood out on his low forehead, while his fierce grey eyes looked viciously from man to man in quest of a quarrel. His great red hands were bunched into huge, gnarled fists, and he shook one of them menacingly as his drunken gaze swept round the tables. “I think you’ll agree with me, gentlemen, that Joe Berks would be all the better for some fresh air and exercise,” said my uncle. “With the concurrence of His Royal Highness and of the company, I shall select him as our champion on this occasion.” “You do me proud,” cried the fellow, staggering to his feet and pulling at his coat. “If I don’t glut him within the five minutes, may I never see Shropshire again.” “Wait a bit, Berks,” cried several of the amateurs. “Where’s it going to be held?” “Where you like, masters. I’ll fight him in a sawpit, or on the outside of a coach if it please you. Put us toe to toe, and leave the rest with me.” “They can’t fight here with all this litter,” said my uncle. “Where shall it be?” “’Pon my soul, Tregellis,” cried the Prince, “I think our unknown friend might have a word to say upon that matter. He’ll be vastly ill-used if you don’t let him have his own choice of conditions.” “You are right, sir. We must have him up.” “That’s easy enough,” said the landlord, “for here he comes through the doorway.” I glanced round and had a side view of a tall and well-dressed young man in a long, brown travelling coat and a black felt hat. The next instant he had turned and I had clutched with both my hands on to Champion Harrison’s arm. “Harrison!” I gasped. “It’s Boy Jim!” And yet somehow the possibility and even the probability of it had occurred to me from the beginning, and I believe that it had to Harrison also, for I had noticed that his face grew grave and troubled from the very moment that there was talk of the stranger below. Now, the instant that the buzz of surprise and admiration caused by Jim’s face and figure had died away, Harrison was on his feet, gesticulating in his excitement. “It’s my nephew Jim, gentlemen,” he cried. “He’s not twenty yet, and it’s no doing of mine that he should be here.” “Let him alone, Harrison,” cried Jackson. “He’s big enough to take care of himself.” “This matter has gone rather far,” said my uncle. “I think, Harrison, that you are too good a sportsman to prevent your nephew from showing whether he takes after his uncle.” “It’s very different from me,” cried Harrison, in great distress. “But I’ll tell you what I’ll do, gentlemen. I never thought to stand up in a ring again, but I’ll take on Joe Berks with pleasure, just to give a bit o’ sport to this company.” Boy Jim stepped across and laid his hand upon the prize-fighter’s shoulder. “It must be so, uncle,” I heard him whisper. “I am sorry to go against your wishes, but I have made up my mind, and I must carry it through.”