beat down an accomplished boxer as he would a country
hawbuck at a village fair. He fought with his head and his feet as well
as with his hands. Spring had to admit in his heart that, trained to
the ring, this man must have been a match for the best. His guard was
strong, his counter was like lightning, he took punishment like a man
of iron, and when he could safely close he always brought his lighter
antagonist to the ground with a shattering fall. But the one stunning
blow which he had courted before he was taught respect for his adversary
weighed heavily on him all the time. His senses had lost something of
their quickness and his blows of their sting. He was fighting, too,
against a man who, of all the boxers who have made their names great,
was the safest, the coolest, the least likely to give anything away, or
lose an advantage gained. Slowly, gradually, round by round, he was worn
down by his cool, quick-stepping, sharp-hitting antagonist. At last he
stood exhausted, breathing hoarsely, his face, what could be seen of it,
purple with his exertions. He had reached the limit of human endurance.
His opponent stood waiting for him, bruised and beaten, but as cool, as
ready, as dangerous as ever.

"You'd best drop it, I tell you," said he. "You're done."

But the other's manhood would not have it so. With a snarl of fury he
cast his science to the winds, and rushed madly to slogging with both
hands. For a moment Spring was overborne. Then he side-stepped swiftly;
there was the crash of his blow, and the amateur tossed up his arms and
fell all asprawl, his great limbs outstretched, his disfigured face to
the sky.

For a moment Tom Spring stood looking down at his unconscious opponent.
The next he felt a soft, warm hand upon his bare arm. The woman was at
his elbow.

"Now is your time!" she cried, her dark eyes aflame. "Go in! Smash him!"

Spring shook her off with a cry of disgust, but she was back in an
instant.

"I'll make it seventy-five pounds--"

"The fight's over, ma'am. I can't touch him."

"A hundred pounds--a clear hundred! I have it here in my bodice. Would
you refuse a hundred?"

He turned on his heel. She darted past him and tried to kick at the face
of the prostrate man. Spring dragged her roughly away, before she could
do him a mischief.

"Stand clear!" he cried, giving her a shake. "You should take shame to
hit a fallen man."

With a groan the injured man turned on his side. Then he slowly