m-wagon. Looking at the two men, it seemed as if he could
hardly hope to escape terrible punishment at the hands of one so
massively powerful, and every blow inflicted on him would have been like
one inflicted on myself. But now I took heart and looked forward with
less anxiety.

Again time was called, and Locasto sprang up, seemingly quite refreshed
by his rest. Once more he plunged after his man, but now I could see his
rushes were more under control, his smashing blows better timed, his
fierce jabs more shrewdly delivered. Again I began to quake for the
Jam-wagon, but he showed a wonderful quickness in his footwork, darting
in and out, his hands swinging at his sides, a smile of mockery on his
lips. He was deft as a dancing-master; he twinkled like a gleam of
light, and amid that savage thresh of blows he was as cool as if he were
boxing in the school gymnasium.

"Who is he?" those at the ring-side began to whisper. Time and again it
seemed as if he were cornered, but in a marvellous way he wormed
himself free. I held my breath as he evaded blow after blow, some of
which seemed to miss him by a mere hair's breadth. He was taking
chances, I thought, so narrowly did he permit the blows to miss him. I
was all keyed up, on edge with excitement, eager for my man to strike,
to show he was not a mere ring-tactician. But the Jam-wagon bided his
time.

And so the round ended, and it was evident that the crowd was of the
same opinion as myself. "Why don't he mix up a little?" said one. "Give
him time," said another. "He's all right: there's some class to that
work."

Locasto came up for the third round looking sobered, subdued, grimly
determined. Evidently he had made up his mind to force his opponent out
of his evasive tactics. He was wary as a cat. He went cautiously. Yet
again he assumed the aggressive, gradually working the Jam-wagon into a
corner. A collision was inevitable; there was no means of escape for my
friend; that huge bulk, with its swinging, flail-like arms, menaced him
hopelessly.

Suddenly Locasto closed in. He swooped down on the Jam-wagon. He had
him. He shortened his right arm for a jab like the crash of a
pile-driver. The arm shot out, but once again the Jam-wagon was not
there. He ducked quickly, and Locasto's great fist brushed his hair.

Then, like lightning, the two came to a clinch. Now, thought I, it's all
off with the Jam-wagon. I saw Locasto's eyes dilate with ferocious joy.
He had the oth