The Green Flag and Other Stories of War and Sport - The Croxley Master - I Part 2

Arthur Conan Doyle (0:25)

CHAPTER I. PART II The medical assistant sat for a time in the surgery, turning it over a little in his mind. He had been trained originally at the university by the man who had been middleweight champion in his day. It was true that his teacher was long past his prime, slow upon his feet and stiff in his joints, but even so he was still a tough antagonist. But Montgomery had found at last that he could more than hold his own with him. He had won the university medal, and his teacher, who had trained so many students, was emphatic in his opinion that he had never had one who was in the same class with him. He had been exhorted to go in for the amateur championships, but he had no particular ambition in that direction. Once he had put on the gloves of Hammer Tunstall in a booth at a fair and had fought three rattling rounds, in which he had had the worst of it, but had made the prizefighter stretch himself to the uttermost. There was his whole record, and was it enough to encourage him to stand up to the master of Croxley? He had never heard of the master before, but then he had lost touch of the ring during the last few years of hard work. After all, what did it matter? If he won, there was the money, which meant so much to him. If he lost, it would only mean a thrashing. He could take the punishment without flinching. Of that he was certain. If there was only one chance in a hundred of pulling it off, then it was worth his while to attempt it.

Dr. Oldacre, new come from the church, with an ostentatious prayer book in his kid-glove hand, broke in upon his meditation. You don't go to service, I observed, Mr. Montgomery, said he coldly. No, sir, I have had some business to detain me. It is very near to my heart that my household should set a good example. There are so few educated people in this district that a great responsibility devolves upon us. If we do not live up to the highest, how can we expect these poor workers to do so? It is a dreadful thing to reflect that the parish takes a great deal more interest in an approaching glove fight than in their religious duties.

A glove fight, sir? said Montgomery, guiltily.

I believe that to be the correct term. One of my patients tells me that it is the talk of the district. A local ruffian, a patient of ours, by the way, matched against a pugilist over at Croxley. I cannot understand why the law does not step in and stop so degrading an exhibition. It is really a prize fight.

A glove fight, you said. I am informed that a two ounce glove is an evasion by which they dodge the law and make it difficult for the police to interfere. They contend for a sum of money. It seems dreadful and almost incredible, does it not, to think that such scenes can be enacted within a few miles of our peaceful home? But you will realize, Mr. Montgomery, that while there are such influences for us to counteract, it is very necessary that we should live up to our highest.

The doctor's sermon would have had more effect if the assistant had not once or twice had occasion to test his highest and come upon it at unexpectedly humble elevations. It is always so particularly easy to compound for sins we are most inclined to by damning those we have no mind to. In any case, Montgomery felt that of all the men concerned in such a fight, promoters, backers, spectators, it is the actual fighter who holds the strongest and most honorable position. His conscience gave him no concern upon the subject. Endurance and courage are virtues, not vices, and brutality is at least better than effeminacy.

There was a little tobacco shop at the corner of the street where Montgomery got his bird's eye and also his local information, for the shopman was a garrulous soul who knew everything about the affairs of the district. The assistant strolled down there after tea and asked, in a casual way, whether the tobacconist had ever heard of the Master of Croxley.

Heard of him? Heard of him? The little man could hardly articulate in his astonishment. Why, sir, he's the first one of the district, and his name is well known in the West writing as the winner of Tudorby. But, lo, sir— Here he stopped and rummaged among a heap of papers. They are making a fuss about him on account of his fight with Ted Barton, and so the Croxley Herald has his life on record, and here it is, and thou canst read it for thyself.