ven about the ring. And in that
moment Joe's foot slipped on the wet canvas. Ponta's swimming eyes saw
and knew the chance. All the fleeing strength of his body gathered
itself together for the lightning lucky punch. Even as Joe slipped the
other smote him, fairly on the point of the chin. He went over backward.
Genevieve saw his muscles relax while he was yet in the air, and she
heard the thud of his head on the canvas.

The noise of the yelling house died suddenly. The referee, stooping over
the inert body, was counting the seconds. Ponta tottered and fell to his
knees. He struggled to his feet, swaying back and forth as he tried to
sweep the audience with his hatred. His legs were trembling and bending
under him; he was choking and sobbing, fighting to breathe. He reeled
backward, and saved himself from falling by a blind clutching for the
ropes. He clung there, drooping and bending and giving in all his body,
his head upon his chest, until the referee counted the fatal tenth second
and pointed to him in token that he had won.

He received no applause, and he squirmed through the ropes, snakelike,
into the arms of his seconds, who helped him to the floor and supported
him down the aisle into the crowd. Joe remained where he had fallen. His
seconds carried him into his corner and placed him on the stool. Men
began climbing into the ring, curious to see, but were roughly shoved out
by the policemen, who were already there.

Genevieve looked on from her peep-hole. She was not greatly perturbed.
Her lover had been knocked out. In so far as disappointment was his, she
shared it with him; but that was all. She even felt glad in a way. The
Game had played him false, and he was more surely hers. She had heard of
knockouts from him. It often took men some time to recover from the
effects. It was not till she heard the seconds asking for the doctor
that she felt really worried.

They passed his limp body through the ropes to the stage, and it
disappeared beyond the limits of her peep-hole. Then the door of her
dressing-room was thrust open and a number of men came in. They were
carrying Joe. He was laid down on the dusty floor, his head resting on
the knee of one of the seconds. No one seemed surprised by her presence.
She came over and knelt beside him. His eyes were closed, his lips
slightly parted. His wet hair was plastered in straight locks about his
face. She lifted one of his hands. It wa