"Well, well," he grunted, in a thick,
fussy, wheezy voice, "you have come, then. Got your man? Got your man?
"Here he is, fit and well. Mr. Montgomery, let me present you to Mr.
Armitage."
"Glad to meet you, sir. Happy to make your acquaintance. I make bold
to say, sir, that we of Croxley admire your courage, Mr. Montgomery, and
that our only hope is a fair fight and no favour, and the best man win.
That's our sentiments at Croxley."
"And it is my sentiment, also," said the assistant.
"Well, you can't say fairer than that, Mr. Montgomery. You've taken a
large contrac' in hand, but a large contrac' may be carried through,
sir, as anyone that knows my dealings could testify. The Master is
ready to weigh in!"
"So am I."
"You must weigh in the buff." Montgomery looked askance at the tall,
red-headed woman who was standing gazing out of the window.
"That's all right," said Wilson. "Get behind the curtain and put on
your fighting kit."
He did so, and came out the picture of an athlete, in white, loose
drawers, canvas shoes, and the sash of a well-known cricket club round
his waist. He was trained to a hair, his skin gleaming like silk, and
every muscle rippling down his broad shoulders and along his beautiful
arms as he moved them.
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