I have a forty-eight-inch
chest, with five and a half inches chest-expansion, and a reach as
long as a gorilla's. My underpinning is good, too; I'm not one of
these fellows with spidery legs and a barrel-chest. I can do a
hundred yards in ten seconds; I'm no slouch of a swimmer; and at
Princeton they say I made football history. And in spite of it all, I
haven't an athletic heart."
"That is very encouraging, my boy--very. Ever do any boxing?" "Quite
a little. I'm fairly up in the manly art of self-defence."
"That's good. And I suppose you did some wrestling at your college
gymnasium, did you not?"
"Naturally. I went in for everything my big carcass could stand."
The old man wagged his head approvingly, and they had reached the
gate of the Cardigan home before he spoke again. "There's a big buck
woods-boss up in Pennington's camp," he remarked irrelevantly. "He's
a French Canadian imported from northern Michigan by Colonel
Pennington. I dare say he's the only man in this country who measures
up to you physically. He can fight with his fists and wrestle right
cleverly, I'm told. His name is Jules Rondeau, and he's top dog among
the lumberjacks. They say he's the strongest man in the county." He
unlatched the gate. "Folks used to say that about me once," he
continued wistfully.
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