He did not know that for a man
absolutely unscientific with his fists there is nothing so fatal as to
take a boxing lesson on the eve of battle. A little knowledge is a
dangerous thing. He is apt to lose his recklessness--which might have
stood by him well--in exchange for a little quite useless science. He
is neither one thing nor the other, neither a natural fighter nor a
skilful boxer.
This point O'Hara endeavoured to press upon him as soon as he had
explained why it was that he wanted coaching on this particular
afternoon.
The Irishman was in the gymnasium, punching the ball, when Trevor found
him. He generally put in a quarter of an hour with the punching-ball
every evening, before Moriarty turned up for the customary six rounds.
"Want me to teach ye a few tricks?" he said. "What's that for?"
"I've got a mill coming on soon," explained Trevor, trying to make the
statement as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world for a
school prefect, who was also captain of football, head of a house, and
in the cricket eleven, to be engaged for a fight in the near future.
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