P. G. Wodehouse

“ A tough, rushing fighter is ten times as good as a man who’s just begun to learn what he oughtn’t to do.”
“Well, what do you advise me to do, then?” asked Trevor, impressed by the unwonted earnestness with which the Irishman delivered this pugilistic homily, which was a paraphrase of the views dinned into the ears of every novice by the school instructor.
“I must do something.”
“The best thing ye can do,” said O’Hara, thinking for a moment, “is to put on the gloves and have a round or two with me. Here’s Moriarty at last. We’ll get him to time us.” ”

“ 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. ”

“ He showed him the two letters from the League, touched on Milton’s connection with the affair, traced the gradual development of his suspicions, and described with some approach to excitement the scene in Ruthven’s study, and the explanations that had followed it.
“Now do you wonder,” he concluded, “that I feel as if a few rounds with Rand-Brown would do me good.” ”