down. Presently
the referee called out his name as the winner, and he went across the
ring and shook hands with his opponent, who was now himself again.

He overheard snatches of conversation as he made his way through the
crowd to the dressing-room.

"Useful boxer, that Wrykyn boy."

"Shortest fight I've seen here since Hopley won the Heavy-Weights."

"Fluke, do you think?"

"Don't know. Came to the same thing in the end, anyhow. Caught him
fair."

"Hard luck on that Tonbridge man. He's a good boxer, really. Did well
here last year."

Then an outburst of hand-claps drowned the speakers' voices. A swarthy
youth with the Ripton pink and green on his vest had pushed past him
and was entering the ring. As he entered the dressing-room he heard the
referee announcing the names. So that was the famous Peteiro! Sheen
admitted to himself that he looked tough, and hurried into his coat and
out of the dressing-room again so as to be in time to see how the
Ripton terror shaped.

It was plainly not a one-sided encounter. Peteiro's opponent hailed
from St Paul's, a school that has a habit of turning out boxers. At the
end of the first round it seemed that honours were even. The great
Peteiro had taken as much as he had given, and once had been
uncompromisingly floored by the Pauline's left. But in the second round
he began to gain points. For a boy of his weight he had a terrific hit
with the right, and three applications of this to the ribs early in the
round took much of the sting out of the Pauline's blows. He fought on
with undiminished pluck, but the Riptonian was too strong for him, and
the third round was a rout. To quote the _Sportsman_ of the
following day, "Peteiro crowded in a lot of work with both hands, and
scored a popular victory".

Sheen looked thoughtful at the conclusion of the fight. There was no
doubt that Drummond's antagonist of the previous year was formidable.
Yet Sheen believed himself to be the cleverer of the two. At any rate,
Peteiro had given no signs of possessing much cunning. To all
appearances he was a tough, go-ahead fighter, with a right which would
drill a hole in a steel plate. Had he sufficient skill to baffle his
(Sheen's) strong tactics? If only Joe Bevan would come! With Joe in his
corner to direct him, he would feel safe.

But of Joe up to the present there were no signs.

Mr Spence came and sat down beside him.

"Well, Sheen," he said, "so you won your first fight. Keep it u