e wipes Tom's face after the first round with a wet
sponge, while he sits back on Martin's knee, supported by the Madman's
long arms, which tremble a little from excitement.

"Time's up," calls the time-keeper.

"There he goes again, hang it all!" growls East as his man is at it
again as hard as ever. A very severe round follows, in which Tom gets
out and out the worst of it, and is at last hit clean off his legs, and
deposited on the grass by a right-hander from the slogger. Loud shouts
rise from the boys of slogger's house, and the school-house are silent
and vicious, ready to pick quarrels anywhere.

[Illustration: TOM SITS ON MARTIN'S KNEE]

"Two to one in half-crowns on the big 'un," says Rattle, one of the
amateurs, a tall fellow, in thunder-and-lightning waistcoat, and puffy,
good-natured face.

"Done!" says Groove, another amateur of quieter look, taking out his
note-book to enter it--for our friend Rattle sometimes forgets these
little things.

Meantime East is freshening up Tom with the sponges for the next round,
and has set two other boys to rub his hands.

"Tom, old boy," whispers he, "this may be fun for you, but it's death to
me. He'll hit all the fight out of you in another five minutes, and then
I shall go and drown myself in the island ditch. Feint him--use your
legs! draw him about! he'll lose his wind then in no time, and you can
go into him. Hit at his body too, we'll take care of his frontispiece by
and by."

Tom felt the wisdom of the counsel, and saw already that he couldn't go
in and finish the slogger off at mere hammer and tongs, so changed his
tactics completely in the third round. He now fights cautious, getting
away from and parrying the slogger's lunging hits, instead of trying to
counter, and leading his enemy a dance all round the ring after him.
"He's funking; go in, Williams," "Catch him up," "Finish him off,"
scream the small boys of the slogger party.

"Just what we want," thinks East, chuckling to himself, as he sees
Williams, excited by these shouts and thinking the game in his own
hands, blowing himself in his exertions to get to close quarters again,
while Tom is keeping away with perfect ease.

They quarter over the ground again and again, Tom always on the
defensive.

The slogger pulls up at last for a moment, fairly blown.

"Now then, Tom," sings out East dancing with delight. Tom goes in in a
twinkling, and hits two heavy body blows, and gets away again before