blow she felt a sickening sensation in the pit of her
stomach. She did not know that what she heard was the impact of glove on
glove, or glove on shoulder, and that no damage was being done.

She was suddenly aware that a change had come over the fight. Both men
were clutching each other in a tense embrace; no blows were being struck
at all. She recognized it to be what Joe had described to her as the
"clinch." Ponta was struggling to free himself, Joe was holding on.

The referee shouted, "Break!" Joe made an effort to get away, but Ponta
got one hand free and Joe rushed back into a second clinch, to escape the
blow. But this time, she noticed, the heel of his glove was pressed
against Ponta's mouth and chin, and at the second "Break!" of the
referee, Joe shoved his opponent's head back and sprang clear himself.

For a brief several seconds she had an unobstructed view of her lover.
Left foot a trifle advanced, knees slightly bent, he was crouching, with
his head drawn well down between his shoulders and shielded by them. His
hands were in position before him, ready either to attack or defend. The
muscles of his body were tense, and as he moved about she could see them
bunch up and writhe and crawl like live things under the white skin.

But again Ponta was upon him and he was struggling to live. He crouched
a bit more, drew his body more compactly together, and covered up with
his hands, elbows, and forearms. Blows rained upon him, and it looked to
her as though he were being beaten to death.

But he was receiving the blows on his gloves and shoulders, rocking back
and forth to the force of them like a tree in a storm, while the house
cheered its delight. It was not until she understood this applause, and
saw Silverstein half out of his seat and intensely, madly happy, and
heard the "Oh, you, Joe's!" from many throats, that she realized that
instead of being cruelly punished he was acquitting himself well. Then
he would emerge for a moment, again to be enveloped and hidden in the
whirlwind of Ponta's ferocity.

CHAPTER V

The gong sounded. It seemed they had been fighting half an hour, though
from what Joe had told her she knew it had been only three minutes. With
the crash of the gong Joe's seconds were through the ropes and running
him into his corner for the blessed minute of rest. One man, squatting
on the floor between his outstretched feet and elevating them by resting
them on his kn