“There has never been a southpaw champion yet,” said one of the boys. “You’re wrong there, pal,” I interposed. “Bendigo was a southpaw. He won the heavyweight championship of England by whipping Jem Burke just over a hundred years ago.” “Orthodox fighters have learned a bit since then, Nat.” “Well, all I can say is that Ad Wolgast isn’t one of them,” I replied. “And I’d like to see some of the other champs up against southpaws before I make up my mind.” Dissatisfied with his showing against Brown, Wolgast arranged another engagement with the blond, hard-hitting Dutchman within a month, March 3. “Dumb” Dan Morgan, K. O. Brown’s manager, had pressed for this second contest after his man’s impressive exhibition in Philadelphia. Wolgast had demanded a guarantee of ten thousand dollars—an enormous sum in those days, and certainly enough to put an end to negotiations. But “Dumb” Dan was so certain that K. O. Brown could put Wolgast to sleep within ten rounds that he went into the match on a very short purse which enabled Tom O’Rourke to meet Ad’s demands for the big guarantee. The seating capacity of O’Rourke’s New York club was only twelve hundred, but as soon as the match was signed, there was an enormous demand for tickets. Tom put up his prices and charged five, ten, and fifteen dollars for the seats, but even then there was a riot, and police reserves had to be called out to deal with fans who fought to get in. The jam was so great that the police had to rope off the entire block, clear it, and then control the stream of fans right into the hall. I have seen many wild gatherings at the scene of a big fight, but few to surpass this one. Although we knew we were in for a thrill, we didn’t quite figure on the sort of thrill we got. It was a savage bout from start to finish. Both men absorbed tremendous punishment. I had seldom seen such punching from lightweights. The two men fought toe-to-toe and wouldn’t concede a foot. On several occasions the lightweight crown tottered on Ad Wolgast’s head, as the ferocious Dutchman, with his baffling southpaw stance, crashed home his dynamic right on the champion’s cheeks, just missing the button. Then apparently it began to dawn on K. O. Brown that the championship was in his grasp, and that he would have to pay proper respect to Ad’s swings if he was to get away with it. Here the Dutchman made a mistake—and it cost him the world title. In the eighth round, Brown landed a punch on Wolgast’s chin that had the champion groggy. Ad went back on his heels, his eyes rolling. For a moment he staggered forward with open mouth, and the Dutchman just missed connecting with his deadly right. I saw him about to leap in, and then check himself. The crowd was yelling for him to finish Wolgast, but he stood fiddling about, feinting. Meanwhile, the groggy champion was slowly recovering his senses. What could have happened to Brown?