is good all over, straight, hard, and springy from neck to ankle, better
perhaps in his legs than anywhere. Besides, you can see by the clear
white of his eye and fresh bright look of his skin, that he is in
tip-top training, able to do all he knows; while the Slogger looks
rather sodden, as if he didn't take much exercise and ate too much tuck.
The time-keeper is chosen, a large ring made, and the two stand up
opposite one another for a moment, giving us time just to make our
little observations.

"If Tom'll only condescend to fight with his head and heels," as East
mutters to Martin, "we shall do."

But seemingly he won't, for there he goes in, making play with both
hands. Hard all, is the word; the two stand to one another like men;
rally follows rally in quick succession, each fighting as if he thought
to finish the whole thing out of hand. "Can't last at this rate," say
the knowing ones, while the partisans of each make the air ring with
their shouts and counter-shouts, of encouragement, approval, and
defiance.

"Take it easy, take it easy--keep away, let him come after you,"
implores East, as he wipes Tom's face after the first round with wet
sponge, while he sits back on Martin's knee, supported by the Madman's
long arms, which tremble a little from excitement.

"Time's up," calls the time-keeper.

"There he goes again, hang it all!" growls East as his man is at it
again as hard as ever. A very severe round follows, in which Tom gets
out and out the worst of it, and is at last hit clean off his legs, and
deposited on the grass by a right-hander from the Slogger.

Loud shouts rise from the boys of Slogger's house, and the School-house
are silent and vicious, ready to pick quarrels anywhere.

"Two to one in half-crowns on the big 'un," says Rattle, one of the
amateurs, a tall fellow, in thunder-and-lightning waistcoat, and puffy,
good-natured face.

"Done!" says Groove, another amateur of quieter look, taking out his
note-book to enter it--for our friend Rattle sometimes forgets these
little things.

Meantime East is freshening up Tom with the sponges for next round, and
has set two other boys to rub his hands.

"Tom, old boy," whispers he, "this may be fun for you, but it's death to
me. He'll hit all the fight out of you in another five minutes, and then
I shall go and drown myself in the island ditch. Feint him--use your
legs!--draw him about! he'll lose his wind then in no time, and you can
go into