"Coming from you it might have an influence for good." "I will, I will!" promised Sharon, fervently, and there was a gleam of honest determination in his quick old eyes.
That very afternoon, in Pegleg McCarron's shed, he said words to Wilbur that might have an influence for good.
"Quit sticking your jaw out that way or he'll knock it off!" had been his first advice.

And again: "Cover up that stomach--you want to get killed ?" He was sitting at one end of the arena, on a plank supported by the ends of two beer kegs, and he held open a large, thick, respectable gold watch.

"Time!" he called.
Beside him sat the red-eyed and disreputable Pegleg McCarron, who whacked the floor with the end of his crutch from time to time in testimony of his low pleasure.
The round closed with one of Wilbur Cowan's right crosses--started from not too far back--landing upon the jaw of Spike Brennon with what seemed to be a shattering impact.

Sharon Whipple yelled and Pegleg McCarron pounded the floor in applause.

Spike merely shook his head once.
"The kid's showing speed," he admitted, cordially.