essing, too,
right from the first word he spoke. There was something about him that
left me wondering--thinking a little. But I'm understanding a whole
lot better since you finished talking. You're right, too, Chub--you're
all of that! Five years is a long time to wait for a chance to swing.
I ought to know--I've waited half that long myself. That was the way
he started for Boots, that second round. Oh, it was deadly--it was
mighty, mighty wicked. And now, to top it all, it's The Red for whom
he was looking, too. I wish it wasn't so easy; I sure do! It's so
simple I almost don't enjoy it. Almost--but not quite!"

Once more he shot to his feet and began pacing up and down the room.
Morehouse sat following him to and fro with his eyes, trying to
comprehend each step of this bewildering development which was
furthest of all from what he had expected. He had listened with his
face fairly glowing with appreciation to the ex-lightweight's account
of Denny's coming. It was all so entirely in keeping with what he had
already known of him. But the glint died out of his eyes after a time;
even his nervously active fingers stopped worrying the bit of
cardboard on the table.

"Granted that he could turn the trick, Flash," he suggested at last,
"even admitting that he might be able to stop Conway after a few
months of training to help him out, do you suppose he'd be willing to
hang around and fight his way up through the ranks, until he forced
'em to let him have his match? It's usually a two year's job, you
know, at the very least.

"I don't know why, Flash, but somehow the more I think of it, the
surer I grow that there is something more behind his wanting that
fight than we know anything about. It isn't just a grudge; it isn't
just because of the dirty deal which that village has been giving him,
either. I've been wondering--I'm wondering right now why he asked me
if that account of the purse was true or not. Because men don't fight
the way you say he fought, Flash, just for money. They fight hard,
I'll admit, but not that way!"

There was a living menace in Hogarty's steady tread up and down the
room. He wheeled and crossed, turned and retraced his steps
noiselessly, cat-footed in his low rubbed-shod shoes. And he turned a
gaze that was almost pitying upon the plump man's objection.

"Two years--to get ready?" he asked softly. "Chub, do you think I'd
wait two years--now? Why, two months is too long, and that is the
outsid