"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 thepreliminary bouts had won him favour with the spectators.

　　"J. Peteiro, Ripton School.""Go it, Ripton!" cried a voice from near the door. The referee frownedin the direction of this audacious partisan, and expressed a hope thatthe audience would kindly refrain from comment during the rounds.

　　Then he turned to the ring again, and announced the names a secondtime.

　　"Sheen--Peteiro."The Ripton man was sitting with a hand on each knee, listening to theadvice of his school instructor, who had thrust head and shouldersthrough the ropes, and was busy impressing some point upon him. Sheenfound himself noticing the most trivial things with extraordinaryclearness. In the front row of the spectators sat a man with aparti-coloured tie. He wondered idly what tie it was. It was rather likeone worn by members of Templar's house at Wrykyn. Why were the ropes ofthe ring red? He rather liked the colour. There was a man lighting apipe. Would he blow out the match or extinguish it with a wave of thehand? What a beast Peteiro looked. He really was a nigger. He must lookout for that right of his. The straight left. Push it out. Straightleft ruled the boxing world. Where was Joe? He must have missed thetrain. Or perhaps he hadn't been able to get away. Why did he want toyawn, he wondered.

　　"Time!"The Ripton man became suddenly active. He almost ran across the ring. Abrief handshake, and he had penned Sheen up in his corner before he hadtime to leave it. It was evident what advice his instructor had beengiving him. He meant to force the pace from the start.

　　The suddenness of it threw Sheen momentarily off his balance. He seemedto be in a whirl of blows. A sharp shock from behind. He had run upagainst the post. Despite everything, he remembered to keep his guardup, and stopped a lashing hit from his antagonist's left. But he wastoo late to keep out his right. In it came, full on the weakest spot onhis left side. The pain of it caused him to double up for an instant,and as he did so his opponent upper-cut him. There was no rest for him.

　　Nothing that he had ever experienced with the gloves on approachedthis. If only he could get out of this corner.

　　Then, almost unconsciously, he recalled Joe Bevan's advice.

　　"If a man's got you in a corner," Joe had said, "fall on him."Peteiro made another savage swing. Sheen dodged it and hurled himselfforward.

　　"Break away," said a dispassionate official voice.

　　Sheen broke away, but now he was out of the corner with the whole good,open ring to manoeuvre in.

　　He could just see the Ripton instructor signalling violently to hisopponent, and, in reply to the signals, Peteiro came on again withanother fierce rush.