Ted Barton seized him by the collar.
"See here, thou yoong whelp, this is private, and we want noan o' thy
spyin'!"
"But I maun speak to Mr. Wilson."
The young Cantab stepped forward.
"Well, my lad, what is it?"
"It's aboot t' fight, Mr. Wilson, sir. I wanted to tell your mon
somethin' aboot t' Maister."
"We've no time to listen to gossip, my boy. We know all about the
Master."
"But thou doan't, sir. Nobody knows but me and mother, and we thought
as we'd like thy mon to know, sir, for we want him to fair bray him."
"Oh, you want the Master fair brayed, do you? So do we. Well, what
have you to say?"
"Is this your mon, sir?"
"Well, suppose it is?"
"Then it's him I want to tell aboot it. T' Maister is blind o' the left
eye."
"Nonsense!"
"It's true, sir. Not stone blind, but rarely fogged. He keeps it
secret, but mother knows, and so do I. If thou slip him on the left
side he can't cop thee. Thou'll find it right as I tell thee. And mark
him when he sinks his right. 'Tis his best blow, his right upper-cut.
T' Maister's finisher, they ca' it at t' works. It's a turble blow when
it do come home."
"Thank you, my boy. This is information worth having about his sight,"
said Wilson. "How came you to know so much? Who are you?"
"I'm his son, sir.
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