p."

"I'll try, sir," said Sheen.

"What do you think of Peteiro?"

"I was just wondering, sir. He hits very hard."

"Very hard indeed."

"But he doesn't look as if he was very clever."

"Not a bit. Just a plain slogger. That's all. That's why Drummond beat
him last year in the Feather-Weights. In strength there was no
comparison, but Drummond was just too clever for him. You will be the
same, Sheen."

"I hope so, sir," said Sheen.

* * * * *

After lunch the second act of the performance began. Sheen had to meet
a boxer from Harrow who had drawn a bye in the first round of the
competition. This proved a harder fight than his first encounter, but
by virtue of a stout heart and a straight left he came through it
successfully, and there was no doubt as to what the decision would be.
Both judges voted for him.

Peteiro demolished a Radleian in his next fight.

By the middle of the afternoon there were three light-weights in the
running--Sheen, Peteiro, and a boy from Clifton. Sheen drew the bye,
and sparred in an outer room with a soldier, who was inclined to take
the thing easily. Sheen, with the thought of the final in his mind, was
only too ready to oblige him. They sparred an innocuous three rounds,
and the man of war was kind enough to whisper in his ear as they left
the room that he hoped he would win the final, and that he himself had
a matter of one-and-sixpence with Old Spud Smith on his success.

"For I'm a man," said the amiable warrior confidentially, "as knows
Class when he sees it. You're Class, sir, that's what you are."

This, taken in conjunction with the fact that if the worst came to the
worst he had, at any rate, won a medal by having got into the final,
cheered Sheen. If only Joe Bevan had appeared he would have been
perfectly contented.

But there were no signs of Joe.

XXII

A GOOD FINISH

"Final, Light-Weights," shouted the referee.

A murmur of interest from the ring-side chairs.

"R. D. Sheen, Wrykyn College."

Sheen got his full measure of applause this time. His victories in the
preliminary bouts had won him favour with the spectators.

"J. Peteiro, Ripton School."

"Go it, Ripton!" cried a voice from near the door. The referee frowned
in the direction of this audacious partisan, and expressed a hope that
the audience would kindly refrain from comment during the rounds.

Then he turned to the ring again, and announced the name