had taught him to use his feet. He side-stepped,
and, turning quickly, found his man staggering past him, over-balanced
by the force of his wasted blow. And now it was Sheen who attacked, and
Peteiro who tried to escape. Two swift hits he got in before his
opponent could face round, and another as he turned and rushed. Then
for a while the battle raged without science all over the ring.
Gradually, with a cold feeling of dismay, Sheen realised that his
strength was going. The pace was too hot. He could not keep it up. His
left counters were losing their force. Now he was merely pushing his
glove into the Ripton man's face. It was not enough. The other was
getting to close quarters, and that right of his seemed stronger than
ever.

He was against the ropes now, gasping for breath, and Peteiro's right
was thudding against his ribs. It could not last. He gathered all his
strength and put it into a straight left. It took the Ripton man in the
throat, and drove him back a step. He came on again. Again Sheen
stopped him.

It was his last effort. He could do no more. Everything seemed black to
him. He leaned against the ropes and drank in the air in great gulps.

"Time!" said the referee.

The word was lost in the shouts that rose from the packed seats.

Sheen tottered to his corner and sat down.

"Keep it up, sir, keep it up," said a voice. "Bear't that the opposed
may beware of thee. Don't forget the guard. And the straight left beats
the world."

It was Joe--at the eleventh hour.

With a delicious feeling of content Sheen leaned back in his chair. It
would be all right now. He felt that the matter had been taken out of
his hands. A more experienced brain than his would look after the
generalship of the fight.

As the moments of the half-minute's rest slid away he discovered the
truth of Joe's remarks on the value of a good second. In his other
fights the napping of the towel had hardly stirred the hair on his
forehead. Joe's energetic arms set a perfect gale blowing. The cool air
revived him. He opened his mouth and drank it in. A spongeful of cold
water completed the cure. Long before the call of Time he was ready for
the next round.

"Keep away from him, sir," said Joe, "and score with that left of
yours. Don't try the right yet. Keep it for guarding. Box clever. Don't
let him corner you. Slip him when he rushes. Cool and steady does it.
Don't aim at his face too much. Go down below. That's the
_de_-partment