Age could dare to retaliate. All King's movements were
slow and methodical, and his heavy-lidded, slow-moving eyes gave him the
appearance of being half asleep or dazed. Yet they were eyes that saw
everything, that had been trained to see everything through all his
twenty years and odd in the ring. They were eyes that did not blink
or waver before an impending blow, but that coolly saw and measured
distance.

Seated in his corner for the minute's rest at the end of the round, he
lay back with outstretched legs, his arms resting on the right angle of
the ropes, his chest and abdomen heaving frankly and deeply as he gulped
down the air driven by the towels of his seconds. He listened with
closed eyes to the voices of the house, "Why don't yeh fight, Tom?" many
were crying. "Yeh ain't afraid of 'im, are yeh?"

"Muscle-bound," he heard a man on a front seat comment. "He can't move
quicker. Two to one on Sandel, in quids."

The gong struck and the two men advanced from their corners. Sandel came
forward fully three-quarters of the distance, eager to begin again; but
King was content to advance the shorter distance. It was in line with
his policy of economy. He had not been well trained, and he had not had
enough to eat, and every step counted. Besides, he had already walked
two miles to the ringside. It was a repetition of the first round, with
Sandel attacking like a whirlwind and with the audience indignantly
demanding why King did not fight. Beyond feinting and several slowly
delivered and ineffectual blows he did nothing save block and stall
and clinch. Sandel wanted to make the pace fast, while King, out of his
wisdom, refused to accommodate him. He grinned with a certain wistful
pathos in his ring-battered countenance, and went on cherishing his
strength with the jealousy of which only Age is capable. Sandel was
Youth, and he threw his strength away with the munificent abandon of
Youth. To King belonged the ring generalship, the wisdom bred of long,
aching fights. He watched with cool eyes and head, moving slowly
and waiting for Sandel's froth to foam away. To the majority of the
onlookers it seemed as though King was hopelessly outclassed, and they
voiced their opinion in offers of three to one on Sandel. But there were
wise ones, a few, who knew King of old time, and who covered what they
considered easy money.

The third round began as usual, one-sided, with Sandel doing all the
leading, and delivering all the