iously at Manning, who was
doubled over, finding it hard to breath.

"Nothing I can't handle in time," said Tom, looking at Roger.

"Time!" called Astro and stepped off the mat.

The two boys got to their feet slowly. The pace was beginning to show on
them and they boxed carefully.

The boys were perfectly matched, Tom constantly snapping Roger's head
back with the jolting left jabs and following to the head or heart with
a right cross. And Roger counterpunching, slipping hooks and body
punches in under Tom's long leads. It was a savage fight. The three
weeks of hard physical training had conditioned the boys perfectly.

At the end of the twelfth round, both boys showed many signs of wear.
Roger's cheeks were as red as the glow of a jet blast deflector from the
hundreds of lefts Tom had pumped into his face, while Tom's ribs and
mid-section were bruised and raw where Roger's punches had landed
successfully.

It couldn't last much longer, thought Astro, as he called time for the
beginning of the thirteenth round.

Roger quickened his pace, dancing in and out, trying to move in under
Tom's lefts, but suddenly Tom caught him with a right hand that was
cocked and ready. It staggered him and he fell back, covering up. Tom
pressed his advantage, showering rights and lefts everywhere he could
find an opening. In desperation, his knees buckling, Roger clinched
tightly, quickly brought up his open glove and gouged his thumb into
Tom's eyes. Tom pulled back, instinctively pawing at his eye with his
right glove. Roger, spotting the opening, took immediate advantage of
it, shooting a hard looping right that landed flush on Tom's jaw. Tom
went down.

Unaware of Roger's tactics, Astro jumped into the ring and his arm
pumped the deadly count.

"One--two--three--four--"

It was going to be tough if Roger won, Astro thought, as he counted.

"Five--six--"

Arrogant enough now, he would be impossible to live with.

"Seven--eight--"

Tom struggled up to a sitting position and stared angrily at his
opponent in the far corner.

"Nine--"

With one convulsive effort, Tom regained his feet. His left eye was
closed and swollen, his right bleary with fatigue. He wobbled drunkenly
on his feet. But he pressed forward. This was one fight he had to win.

Roger moved in for the finish. He slammed a left into Tom's shell,
trying to find an opening for the last finishing blow. But Tom remained
in his shell, forearms picking off th