again they
fell with first one on top and then the other; their flesh suffered and
they grew bloody. The room soon became a litter, for its fittings were
upset, flung about, splintered, as if the room itself had been picked
up and shaken like a doll's house.

Gray managed to floor his antagonist whenever he had time and space in
which to set himself, but this was not often, for Buddy closed with him
at every opportunity. At such times it was the elder man who suffered
most.

In a way it was an unequal struggle, for youth, ablaze with a holy
fire, was matched against age, stiffened only by stubborn
determination. Neither man longer had any compunctions; each fought
with a ferocious singleness of purpose.

Buddy's face had been hammered to a pulp, but Gray was groaning; he
could breathe only from the top of his lungs, and the bones of his left
hand had been telescoped. Agonizing pains ran clear to his shoulder,
and the hand itself was well-nigh useless.

It was an extraordinary combat; certainly the walls of this luxurious
suite had never looked down upon a scene so strange as this fight
between friends. How long it continued, neither man knew--not a great
while, surely, measured by the clock; but an interminable time as they
gauged it. Nor could Calvin Gray afterward recall just how it came to
an end. He vaguely remembered Buddy Briskow weaving loosely, rocking
forward upon uncertain legs, blindly groping for him--the memory was
like that of a figure seen dimly through a mist of dreams--then he
remembered calling up his last reserve of failing vigor. Even as he
launched the blow he knew it was a knockout. The colossus fell, lay
motionless.

It was a moment or two before Gray could summon strength to lend
succor, then he righted an armchair and dragged Buddy into it. He
reeled as he made for the bathroom, for he was desperately sick; as he
wet a towel, meanwhile clinging dizzily to the faucet, his reflection
leered forth from the mirror--a battered, repulsive countenance,
shockingly unlike his own.

He was gently mopping young Briskow's face when the latter revived.
Buddy's eyes were wild, he did not recognize this unpleasant stranger
until a familiar voice issued from the shapeless lips.

"You'll be all right in a few minutes, my lad."

Briskow lifted his head; he tried to rise, but fell back limply, for as
yet his body refused to obey his will.

"You--licked me," he declared, faintly. "Licked me good, didn'