emesis. It
destroyed the old uns and recked not that, in so doing, it destroyed
itself. It enlarged its arteries and smashed its knuckles, and was in
turn destroyed by Youth. For Youth was ever youthful. It was only Age
that grew old.

At Castlereagh Street he turned to the left, and three blocks along came
to the Gayety. A crowd of young larrikins hanging outside the door made
respectful way for him, and he heard one say to another: "That's 'im!
That's Tom King!"

Inside, on the way to his dressing-room, he encountered the secretary, a
keen-eyed, shrewd-faced young man, who shook his hand.

"How are you feelin', Tom?" he asked.

"Fit as a fiddle," King answered, though he knew that he lied, and
that if he had a quid, he would give it right there for a good piece of
steak.

When he emerged from the dressing-room, his seconds behind him, and came
down the aisle to the squared ring in the centre of the hall, a burst
of greeting and applause went up from the waiting crowd. He acknowledged
salutations right and left, though few of the faces did he know. Most
of them were the faces of kiddies unborn when he was winning his first
laurels in the squared ring. He leaped lightly to the raised platform
and ducked through the ropes to his corner, where he sat down on a
folding stool. Jack Ball, the referee, came over and shook his hand.
Ball was a broken-down pugilist who for over ten years had not entered
the ring as a principal. King was glad that he had him for referee. They
were both old uns. If he should rough it with Sandel a bit beyond the
rules, he knew Ball could be depended upon to pass it by.

Aspiring young heavyweights, one after another, were climbing into the
ring and being presented to the audience by the referee. Also, he issued
their challenges for them.

"Young Pronto," Bill announced, "from North Sydney, challenges the
winner for fifty pounds side bet."

The audience applauded, and applauded again as Sandel himself sprang
through the ropes and sat down in his corner. Tom King looked across
the ring at him curiously, for in a few minutes they would be locked
together in merciless combat, each trying with all the force of him
to knock the other into unconsciousness. But little could he see, for
Sandel, like himself, had trousers and sweater on over his ring costume.
His face was strongly handsome, crowned with a curly mop of yellow hair,
while his thick, muscular neck hinted at bodily magnificence.

Y