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But there's a noo an' unexpected difficulty sprung up in the way this wery mornin'." "Wot's that?" demanded the Slogger, with the air of a man prepared to defy all difficulties. "They've bin an' got a dog a little dog, too; the very wust kind for kickin' up a row. 'Owever, it ain't the fust time you an' I 'ave met an conkered such a difficulty.
Of these three it is a matter for thought and congratulation that each is sufficiently suited for his own work, but would not be capable of doing that of the others as well as it is done. Each is invaluable. Oates had his invaluable period with the ponies; now he is a foot slogger and goes hard the whole time, does his share of camp work, and stands the hardship as well as any of us.
Eliminate the Slogger Williams episode, and the whole of the second part stands out clearly as the work of another hand. But there is one thing that seems to have escaped the notice of everybody. 'Yes? I said. He leant forward impressively, and whispered. 'Only the actual fight is the work of the genuine author. The interference of Arthur has been interpolated! 'By Jove! I said. 'Not really?
Just at this stage of the proceedings, the door of the doctor's library suddenly opens, and he steps into the close, and makes straight for the ring, in which Brown and the slogger are both seated on their seconds' knees for the last time.
"There's enough of 'em to form a goodish overcoat a'most," said the Slogger with a critical grin, "but I should 'ave thought 'em not sufficiently waterproof in wet weather." "Vell, they ain't much use for that, Slog eh, Villum; but you should see the dazzling display they makes in sunshine. W'y, you can see me half a mile off w'en I chance to be walking in Regent Street or drivin' in the Park.
Peteiro swung his right viciously, but without effect. Another swift counter added one more point to Sheen's score. Sheen nearly chuckled. It was all so beautifully simple. What a fool he had been to mix it up in the first round. If he only kept his head and stuck to out-fighting he could win with ease. The man couldn't box. He was nothing more than a slogger.
I'm took so bad," said the Slogger, looking very red, and rubbing himself; "a old complaint as I thought I was cured of. Oh, dear! you'll 'ave to excuge me, Robin. I'll go an' take a turn, an' come in if I gits better. If not, I'll meet you round the corner arter it's over."
Mr Spence came and sat down beside him. "Well, Sheen," he said, "so you won your first fight. Keep it up." "I'll try, sir," said Sheen. "What do you think of Peteiro?" "I was just wondering, sir. He hits very hard." "Very hard indeed." "But he doesn't look as if he was very clever." "Not a bit. Just a plain slogger. That's all. That's why Drummond beat him last year in the Feather-Weights.
It was while Dumps was thus engaged that Brassey and the Slogger walked up to the front of the house and surveyed it in silence for a few minutes. They also took particular observations of both ends of the street. "All serene," said Brassey; "now, you go round to the back and use your key quietly. Give 'im the bit o' meat quick.
A piece of luck on either side, a foot slipping, a blow getting well home, or another fall, may decide it. Tom works slowly round for an opening; he has all the legs, and can choose his own time. The Slogger waits for the attack, and hopes to finish it by some heavy right-handed blow.
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