Assured that it was certainly famous, he grinned mischievously.
"How much they pay for a job like that?" he asked.
"About seven hundred pounds a year," he was told.
"How much is that in money?"
"Maybe two thousand dollars."
His face fell, but he thought about it a moment, then asked, "What I got to do?" Told he only had to lecture three times a year, he felt better.
"Hey," he said. "I'll get all dressed up in a big hat and tails and give 'em one of my regular lectures. I don't have to talk about poetry, do I?"
The prospective poet laureate of Oxford thought about his literary future only briefly before returning to his natural milieu.
He began analyzing the current crop of heavyweight contenders, not to their advantage. "I got four more years before they can say I'm over the hill. I'm gonna be in shape when I come back, down around 215 pounds. Ain't no reason for me to start with any warmup fights. I want to start with the best. Norton. He gonna get his chance, but he don't know enough. He ain't relaxed. Crowds bother him. We couldn't watch him train because it made him nervous. Frazier, he too easy to hit and he don't have the right style to come back."
He demonstrated Frazier's all-out, head-forward, hit-me style.