increased volume.

Jefferson and Burns shook hands. The referee stood in the middle of
the ring and, with arms extended aloft, appeared to be imploring the
blessing of heaven. The crowd, however, understood, and the great
uproar died down to a hum of sound.

Then for the first time it was noticed that, in place of the
habitual smile that had made Burns the idol he was, there was a grim
set about his jaw that caused those nearest to the ring to wonder
and to speculate.

Charley Burns's "battle-smile" had become almost a tradition.

"If he'd only fight more and box less," Alf Pond would say
complainingly, "he'd beat the whole blinkin' world with one hand."

Suddenly a hush fell upon the assembly, a hush as pronounced as had
been the previous pandemonium. The referee took a final look round.
Behind Burns, Alf Pond could be seen sponging his face over a small
bucket. He was once more himself. There were things to be done.

Almost before anyone realised it the gong sounded; the fight had
begun.

"God!"

The exclamation broke involuntarily from Alf Pond, as he dropped the
sponge and gazed before him with wide-staring eyes.

"He's fighting," he cried, almost dancing with excitement. "Did ever
you see the like, Sandy?" But Sandy's eyes were glued upon the ring.
His hands and feet moved convulsively--he was a fighter himself.

Discarding his traditional opening of boxing with swift defensive
watchfulness, Charley Burns had darted at his man. Before anyone
knew what was happening his left crashed between Jefferson's eyes, a
blow that caused him to reel back almost to the ropes.

Before he could recover, a right hook had sent him staggering
against the ropes themselves. For a second it looked as if he would
collapse over them. Pulling himself together, however, he strove to
clinch; but Burns was too quick for him. Stepping back swiftly, he
feinted with his left, and Jefferson, expecting a repetition of the
first blow, raised his guard. A white right arm shot out to the mark,
and Jefferson went down with a crash.

The timekeeper's voice began to drone the monotonous count; at eight
Jefferson gathered himself together; at nine he was on his feet.

Once more Burns was upon him, and Jefferson saved himself by
clinching. It was clear that he was badly shaken.

Three times during the first round Burns floored his man. The
onlookers were mad with excitement.

Back in his own corner, Charley Burns was sitting, a hard se