A great many local sportsmen evinced the keenest interest in the proceedings, but with British hypocrisy strove hard to conceal that interest, out of respect to the people who were not sportsmen. As for the combatants, to their surprise they found themselves rapidly developing into men of renown. Even the hosts of the lesser Bowdens were received with respect among their friends, in that they happened to be actual brothers of a hero. It might have been remarked that while most people at first expected Bowden to win, the larger number coupled the prophecy with a hope that they would be mistaken. From the beginning Bartley was the more popular combatant; and when certain opinions respecting him left the narrow lips of Mr. Fogo at ’The Corner House,’ a little betting opened and ruled at two to one on the younger man. Mr. Shillabeer set to work to teach Bartley the rudiments, but he found himself too slow and scant of breath to be of any service. A young boxer from Plymouth was therefore engaged--he who in Mr. Fogo’s skilful hands had won a recent battle--and he swiftly initiated Crocker. And then it was that the Londoner pronounced this raw material in many respects above the average, and declared that Bartley, among his other qualifications, had some unsuspected talent for milling. He was quick and very active on his legs. He hit straight naturally, not round. His left promised to be very useful and he had a vague idea of hitting on the retreat and countering--arts usually quite unappreciated by the novice. In fact, Mr. Fogo, from an attitude of indifference, presently developed mild interest in the coming battle and was often at hand when Bartley donned the mittens. He also superintended his training, and bore him company, for a part of the distance, on some of those lengthy tramps prescribed by Mr. Shillabeer. Upon one of these occasions, however, Bartley was alone and chance willed that he should meet Margaret returning from Ditsworthy. She was depressed and he asked her why. "For fifty reasons; and you know most of ’em," she answered. "I’ve just been eating dinner to the Warren House. Somehow it always makes me wisht. There’s that young fellow, by the name of Billy Screech, running after Dorcas, and none of ’em like him or will hear of such a thing. And then the silence! They won’t talk afore me. You can hear every pair of teeth working and every bite and sup going down. But that’s not what’s on my mind. ’Tis this awful fight. Oh, Bartley, can’t you make it up?" "We have, long ago. We’re quite friendly. ’Tis no more now than a sporting fixture for ten pounds a side. There’ll be twenty pounds more for furniture for your new home, Madge--if I’m licked." "Don’t talk like that. ’Twould always be covered wi’ bloodstains in my eyes. Can’t you use the gloves? Why do you want to knock your poor noses crooked for? ’Tis like savage tigers more than Christian men."