on
his lips and his eyes shone fiercely from under his tufted brows. From
the way in which he stood it was very clear that he was a past-master at
the game. Tom Spring, as he paced lightly to right and left, looking for
an opening, became suddenly aware that neither with Stringer nor with
the redoubtable Painter himself had he ever faced a more business-like
opponent. The amateur's left was well forward, his guard low, his body
leaning back from the haunches, and his head well out of danger. Spring
tried a light lead at the mark, and another at the face, but in an
instant his adversary was on to him with a shower of sledge-hammer blows
which it took him all his time to avoid. He sprang back, but there was
no getting away from that whirlwind of muscle and bone. A heavy blow
beat down his guard, a second landed on his shoulder, and over went the
prize-fighter with the other on the top of him. Both sprang to their
feet, glared at each other, and fell into position once more.

There could be no doubt that the amateur was not only heavier, but also
the harder and stronger man. Twice again he rushed Spring down, once by
the weight of his blows, and once by closing and hurling him on to his
back. Such falls might have shaken the fight out of a less game man, but
to Tom Spring they were but incidents in his daily trade. Though bruised
and winded he was always up again in an instant. Blood was trickling
from his mouth, but his steadfast blue eyes told of the unshaken spirit
within.

He was accustomed now to his opponent's rushing tactics, and he was
ready for them. The fourth round was the same as to attack, but it was
very different in defence. Up to now the young man had given way and
been fought down. This time he stood his ground. As his opponent
rushed in he met him with a tremendous straight hit from his left hand,
delivered with the full force of his body, and doubled in effect by the
momentum of the charge. So stunning was the concussion that the pugilist
himself recoiled from it across the grassy ring. The amateur staggered
back and leaned his shoulder on a tree-trunk, his hand up to his face.

"You'd best drop it," said Spring. "You'll get pepper if you don't."

The other gave an inarticulate curse, and spat out a mouthful of blood.

"Come on!" said he.

Even now the pugilist found that he had no light task before him. Warned
by his misadventure, the heavier man no longer tried to win the battle
at a rush, nor to