A young fellow turned up who was a second-rate prize-fighter, the son of one of my old boxing teachers.

For several weeks I had him come round to my rooms in the morning to put on the gloves with me for half an hour.

Then he suddenly stopped, and some days later I received a letter of woe from him from the jail.

I found that he was by profession a burglar, and merely followed boxing as the amusement of his lighter moments, or when business was slack.
Naturally, being fond of boxing, I grew to know a good many prize-fighters, and to most of those I knew I grew genuinely attached.
I have never been able to sympathize with the outcry against prize-fighters.

The only objection I have to the prize ring is the crookedness that has attended its commercial development.