But the big test for Barbour was yet to come. After fifteen minutes rest, he stepped into the ring with Burke, the wild Irishman of established kayo fame in the A.A.U. “Box this bird just like you did Salisbury till I tell you to cut loose,” said White. “When he tears in, sidestep and make him miss.” Again Barbour followed instructions to the letter. He stepped nimbly to the left as Burke rushed, swinging a futile right. His left counters kept Burke’s head bobbing back incessantly, and try as he might, the Celt could not get to close quarters with his elusive antagonist. But in the second round, Barbour failed to evade a buzzing right that nailed him flush on the chin and dropped him. In falling he caught Burke around the waist and pulled him down with him. Burke was up first, and Warren’s father and brother, watching from front row seats, must have felt more than a trifle anxious. Their misgivings were short-lived. Barbour, in response to a signal from White, had merely rested on one knee for a few seconds until his head cleared. It is at a time like this that a boxer shows if he has the real fighting instinct—the ability to keep cool under fire. That is every bit as essential to ring success as the ability to give and take it. There was nothing lacking in Barbour’s fighting make-up. When he regained his feet, Burke tore in madly. He was met by a jab that set him back to the ropes. Then the bell rang, just as a stinging left hook to the jaw made the Irishman’s knees buckle. Back in the corner White gave Barbour this advice in exultant tones: “You’ve got him loaded on your little red wagon now, boy. Go in an’ take him with both mitts!” The gong sent Barbour leaping forward like a springing leopard. Burke, always game, met him half-way, and they went into a furious mixup. Right and left the gloves whizzed, but the Celt was continually being beaten to the punch. Barbour’s left crashed on his chin and down went Burke. Up he staggered and ran into a short right that dropped him again. He arose weak and groggy. Barbour stabbed him off with a straight left, measured his man, and tagged a terrific right uppercut flush on the chin. Burke keeled over and fell face downward on the canvas. He was through for the night, nor did he regain consciousness for nearly ten minutes. The “Millionaire Kid” made good. The jeers that marked his first entry into the ring had changed to a storm of frantic applause which shook the building. The echoes of those wild cheers had not died away before Colonel William Barbour leaped through the ropes to congratulate his son. Later that night the proud father threw a party for the visiting New Yorkers at the Hotel Touraine, where there was much feasting and merriment, with Charley White, sage old fox of the squared circle, as master of ceremonies. The “Old Fox” tried hard enough to get Pa Barbour to let his son turn pro, but no amount of persuasion could turn the trick. [Illustration: 9] THE MICHIGAN ASSASSIN