anced
at Sprudell and the expression on his face held her eyes. It fascinated
her. For the moment she forgot Bruce Burt in studying him.

She thought she had read his real nature, had seen his dominant
characteristic in the blatant egotism that had shown itself so strongly
in his elation. But this was different, so different that she had a
queer feeling of sitting opposite an utter stranger. It was not dislike,
resentment, fear; it was rather a sly but savage vindictiveness, a
purposeful malice that would stop at nothing. In the unguarded moment
Sprudell's passion for revenge was stamped upon his face like a brand.
Helen had thought of him contemptuously as a bounder, a conceited
ignoramus--he was more than these things, he was a dangerous man.

But why this intense antagonism? Why should they not speak? Sprudell had
not told her of a quarrel.

"Who are those men!" he asked in an undertone, and she noticed that he
was breathing hard in an excitement he could not conceal.

As she named them in turn she saw that Bruce Burt was regarding her with
the puzzled, questioning look one gives to the person he is trying to
place.

The one stipulation which Bruce had made when he consented to meet the
"Spanish Bull-dog" was that his name should not be known in the event of
the match being mentioned in the papers; so Harrah had complied by
introducing him to his friends by any humorous appellation which
occurred to him. It proved a wise precaution, since directly Bruce's
challenge had been sent and it was known that he was Harrah's protege,
the papers had made much of it, publishing unflattering snapshots after
he had steadily refused to let them take his picture.

It was true enough, as Helen had said, he had whipped the "Spanish
Bull-dog," loosened his tenacious grip in a feat of strength so
sensational that the next morning he had found himself featured along
with an elopement and a bank failure.

They called him "The Man from the Bitter Boots," and a staff artist
depicted him as a hairy aborigine that Winfield Harrah had had captured
to turn loose on the Spanish gladiator. Which humor Bruce did not
relish, for Sprudell's taunt that "muscle" was his only asset still
rankled.

The betting odds had been against him in the Athletic Club, for Bruce's
size ofttimes made him look clumsy, but if Bruce had a bear's great
strength he had also a bear's surprising quickness and agility. And it
was the combination which had won the