rring. Old Jerry gulped and waited--choked back a sobbing breath as
he saw him start to lift himself once more. Upon his hands and knees
first, then upon his knees alone. And then, with eyes shut, he
struggled up, at the count of ten, and shaped up again.

And Conway beat him down.

Even the gallery was quiet now. The thud of that stiff-armed jolt went
to every corner of that vast room. And the referee was droning out the
count again.

"--Five--six--seven----"

Head sagging between his arms, eyes staring and sightless, The
Pilgrim groped out and found the ropes. Once more at the end of the
toll he lifted himself--lifted himself by the strength of his
shoulders to his legs that tottered beneath him, and then stepped free
of the ropes.

That time, before Conway could swing, the gong saved him.

Again it was Hogarty who was first through the ropes. Effortlessly he
stooped and lifted that limp body and carried it across to the stool.
They tried to stretch him back against the ropes behind him, and each
time his head slumped forward over his knees.

Old Jerry turned toward Morehouse and choked--licked his lips and
choked again. And Morehouse nodded his head dumbly.

"He--he's gone!" he said.

Old Jerry sat and stared back at him as though he couldn't understand.
He remembered the bit of a red bow in his pocket then; he fumbled
inside and found it. He remembered the eyes of the girl who had given
it to him, too, that night when she had knelt at his knees. His old
fingers closed, viselike, upon the fat man's arm.

"But she told me to give him this," he mumbled dully. "Why, she--she
said for me to give him this, when he had _Won_."

Morehouse stared at the bit of tinseled silk--stared up at Old Jerry's
face and back again. And then he leaned over suddenly and picked it
up. The next moment he was crowding out from behind the desk--was
climbing into the ring.

Old Jerry saw him fling fiercely tense words into Hogarty's face, and
Hogarty stood back. He knelt before the slack body on the stool and
tried to raise the head; he held the bit of bright web before him, but
there was no recognition in Denny's eyes. And the old man heard the
plump reporter's words, sob-like with excitement:

"She sent it," he hammered at those deaf ears. "She sent it--she sent
it--silk--a little bow of red silk!"

Then the whole vast house saw the change that came over that limp
form. They saw the slack shoulders begin to go back; saw the