d well, and appeared in excellent fettle. The fight
commenced precisely at 11.22, only fifty-two minutes after the advertised
time.

_1st Round._--Both men opened warily, sparring for an opening. Presently
Cockles stepped in and drove his left hard to the nose, drawing blood.
Keeks drew back, and Cockles, following up his advantage, got in a
nicely-judged left hook on the eye, which began to swell ominously. Though
his supporters were obviously chagrined, Keeks kept his head admirably, and
cleverly ducked under a right swing and clinched. At the breakaway Cockles
got his left home on the ribs, but in doing so left himself open, and Keeks
shook him up badly with a jab to the jaw. Cockles' hands dropped
momentarily, and Keeks, whipping in a smashing right uppercut, had his man
down and out.

A poor struggle, lost solely through carelessness.

II.--NEW STYLE.

_By Philip Keppermann._

At twenty-two and a-half minutes past eleven last night a man stood looking
wistfully over a sea of faces looming whitely through a thin blue haze of
tobacco smoke. At his feet lay stretched the limp body of his antagonist.
The disappearance of one eye; under a large red swelling, combined with a
patulous and rubescent nose, detracted to some extent from the dignity of
his appearance. An ugly patch of crimson over his left ribs held the
attention fantastically, morbidly. It was blood, human blood, his own
blood. The thought fascinated me....

Somewhere a voice was counting slowly, steadily,
unhesitatingly--_one_--_two_--_three_.... The voice had in it the
inexorable quality of Fate; it brought tears to the eyes like the wail of
the Chorus in some Greek drama.

I looked at the man by my side. His regard was fixed intently on the
prostrate figure in the ring. His fingers played uneasily with his
watch-chain. He wore evening dress, and I noticed that his tie was a little
crooked.

Away outside we caught the distant hoot of a motorcar. A dog barked. Then a
woman in the audience sneezed; it seemed unwarrantable, impertinent, almost
a desecration....

The voice that was counting ceased. The limp figure did not move. The one
wistful eye of the victor closed for a moment in relief. There was a sudden
incursion of hurrying figures into the ring....

The great fight was over. Nobby Keeks had beaten Bill Cockles.

_By Theresa Chingles._

I was one of forty-four women who witnessed the great battle last night.
There were, it was said,