Say, that pill could hurt you if it come right!" He was instructed briefly in the capacity of moving balls to inflict pain, and more particularly as to their market value.

As the boy talked the sweating man looked him over with shrewd, half-shut eyes.
"Ever had the gloves on, kid ?" he demanded at last.
It appeared in a moment that he meant boxing gloves; not gloves in which to play golf.
"No, sir," said Wilbur.
"You look good.

Come down to the store at three o'clock.

Mebbe you can give me a work-out." Quite astonishingly it appeared then that when he said the store he was meaning the low saloon of Pegleg McCarron; that he did road work every morning and wanted quick young lads to give him a work-out with the gloves in the afternoon, because even dubs was better than shadow boxing or just punching the bag all the time.

If they couldn't box-fight they could wrestle.
So Wilbur had gone to the store that afternoon, and for many succeeding afternoons, to learn the fascinating new game in a shed that served McCarron as storeroom.