They had said that he was too old. They had even thought it pathetically sad that a man who, in his prime, had been unbeaten champion at his weight, should be lured back to the ring after three years away from it to fight again. Some had supposed it was the bombast of the man who was at the top of the tree, and who claimed that not even Johnny Winter could have defeated him, that had tempted the master boxer of his day out of retirement. Others argued that the size of the purse that was up for competition had had the most to do with it. And they had all agreed that Johnny was foolish to have yielded to temptation. There was never a boxer in all the world who, when his day was passed, came back to the ring and fought again just as he had used to fight in his own hey-day. So they had said. But all his life Johnny had known himself better than any of his friends had ever been allowed to know him, and he had believed that he was not yet too completely old to win one last fight. Now he had proved it. It was the fourteenth round and his man was done. Already Johnny was sparring for his final opening. It came suddenly. The other man uncovered and struck out with his right. In the twinkling of an eye Johnny had slipped in and swung up his uppercut with deadly accuracy. It landed with resounding force. The man reeled and fell. There came ten seconds of excited wonder. Then he was out; and the air was thunderous with a long crash of cheering for that quiet-mannered little man with the wispy hair and the patient, deep-set eyes who had undertaken to defend his name against a young man in the prime of life, and had won. His seconds darted to Johnny’s side and lifted him up joyously in their arms. From every seat near by men had risen on to their toes and were reaching for his hand. Friends were elbowing their way towards him. In a moment they had closed round and he was hidden from sight. They crowded about him as he made for the gangway and went quickly through the cheering crowd that was blocking the way. And all the while those who were nearest to him could see that his expression never really altered. From the first round to the last he had fought with a clean and modest gallantry that was a natural part of him. Now that he had won he wanted only to escape from all the inevitable lionising that so troubled him. For a while he suffered them patiently, but he was longing to be allowed to go to his bath in peace. He had done merely what he had set out to do. Their praise was kindly meant, but he would be far happier alone. So at last they let him by and he went gratefully into the dressing-room, said just a few quiet words to those old-timers who were waiting there to tend him, and passed into privacy. When, therefore, a little boy came to the door of the dressing-room and asked for him, they shook their heads.