"
"I never heard of Ted Barton, beyond seeing the name on a medicine
label," said the assistant.
"Well, you may take it from me that he's a slaughterer," said the
horse-breaker. "You've taught him a lesson that he needed, for it was
always a word and a blow with him, and the word alone was worth five
shillin' in a public court. He won't be so ready now to shake his nief
in the face of everyone he meets. However, that's neither here nor
there."
Montgomery looked at them in bewilderment.
"For goodness' sake, gentlemen, tell me what it is you want me to do!"
he cried.
"We want you to fight Silas Craggs, better known as the Master of
Croxley."
"But why?"
"Because Ted Barton was to have fought him next Saturday. He was the
champion of the Wilson coal-pits, and the other was the Master of the
iron-folk down at the Croxley smelters. We'd matched our man for a
purse of a hundred against the Master. But you've queered our man, and
he can't face such a battle with a two-inch cut at the back of his head.
There's only one thing to be done, sir, and that is for you to take his
place. If you can lick Ted Barton you may lick the Master of Croxley,
but if you don't we're done, for there's no one else who is in the same
street with him in this district.
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