The Croxley Master: A Great Tale Of The Prize RingDoyle, Arthur Conan
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The Croxley Master: A Great Tale Of The Prize Ring
Doyle, Arthur Conan
Boxers (Sports) -- Fiction; Boxing stories
Produced by Gerard Arthus, Dianna Adair and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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Illustration: The Fighter in the outdoor ring.
THE CROXLEY MASTER
A GREAT TALE OF THE PRIZE RING
BY
A. CONAN DOYLE
Illustration: The Fighter in the outdoor ring.
NEW YORK
McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
MCMVII
_Copyright, 1907, by McClure, Phillips & Co._
_THE CROXLEY MASTER_
I
Mr. Robert Montgomery was seated at his desk, his head upon his hands,
in a state of the blackest despondency. Before him was the open ledger
with the long columns of Dr. Oldacre's prescriptions. At his elbow lay
the wooden tray with the labels in various partitions, the cork box, the
lumps of twisted sealing-wax, while in front a rank of empty bottles
waited to be filled. But his spirits were too low for work. He sat in
silence, with his fine shoulders bowed and his head upon his hands.
Outside, through the grimy surgery window over a foreground of blackened
brick and slate, a line of enormous chimneys like Cyclopean pillars
upheld the lowering, dun-coloured cloud-bank. For six days in the week
they spouted smoke, but to-day the furnace fires were banked, for it was
Sunday. Sordid and polluting gloom hung over a district blighted and
blasted by the greed of man. There was nothing in the surroundings to
cheer a desponding soul, but it was more than his dismal environment
which weighed upon the medical assistant.
His trouble was deeper and more personal. The winter session was
approaching. He should be back again at the University completing the
last year which would give him his medical degree; but alas! he had not
the money with which to pay his class fees, nor could he imagine how he
could procure it. Sixty pounds were wanted to make his career, and it
might have been as many thousands for any chance there seemed to be of
his obtaining it.
He was roused from his black meditation by the entrance of Dr. Oldacre
himself, a large, clean-shaven, respectable man, with a prim manner and
an austere face. He had prospered exceedingly by the support of the
local Church interest, and the rule of his life was never by word or
action to run a risk of offending the sentiment which had made him. His
standard of respectability and of dignity was exceedingly high, and he
expected the same from his assistants. His appearance and words were
always vaguely benevolent. A sudden impulse came over the despondent
student. He would test the reality of this philanthropy.
"I beg your pardon, Dr. Oldacre," said he, rising from his chair; "I
have a great favour to ask of you."
The doctor's appearance was not encouraging. His mouth suddenly
tightened, and his eyes fell.
"Yes, Mr. Montgomery?"
"You are aware, sir, that I need only one more session to complete my
course."
"So you have told me."
"It is very important to me, sir."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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