After Mr. Hobday, in an only partially recovered state, had been removed, and the hubbub of comment among his backers in the orchestra seats had subsided, there came a lull. Mr. Cluett sat in his chair in the corner of the ring, nodding and occasionally replying briefly to some remark made by the chatting group that surrounded him. From back in the wings came presently the sound of argument and protest; and, after a moment, a hale person in striped trunks shot into view as though he had been playfully pushed. With one sheepish glance toward the audience, however, he turned about and beat a retreat. "You see," explained Miss Yockley, to Daisy, "they put their best man up first; and now that the others has seen what Nick done to him, you couldn't coax 'em into the ring with old cheese. It looks to me as though everything's all over for to-night. Wait, though--here comes the spieler. Let's hear what he has to say; then we'll go around and see how soon Bob and Nick will be ready to come away." "Ladhies and gentlemen," said the announcer, coming to the edge of the ring, "I regret to announct that, owing to the factth that we are unable to secure anodther oppon't in answer to Champeen Cluetth's challenge to any fighter of any weighth--" At this point the speaker paused. A young man, in an automobile dust-coat, unbuttoned--showing that he was in evening dress and had evidently just arrived from some dance or other function--had hopped into the ring and tapped the announcer briskly on the arm to attract his attention. For a moment, the two held rapid conversation; then the young man in evening dress slipped under the ropes and disappeared again into the wings. The announcer, stepping to the very front of the stage and raising his voice so that he might be heard above the creakings of dispersal which already sounded in galleries and pit, said: "If there are any presentth who may wish to remain a little longer, I am gladdh to be able to say that a certaint young man-about-town has agreed to meet the champeen in a boutth of four three-minutth rounts. As the stranger wishes his identity to be concealedh--for reasons of his own--he will appear in the ringk masked." "Masked!" commented Miss Stella Yockley, "now, what's this they're trying to spring on us, I wonder. Well, anyway, they can't put nothin' over on Nick. He's in training to-night, and the Devil himself couldn't trim Nicky Cluett in four rounds. There ain't a fighter living could do it--no, sir, I don't care who he is." And with these words Miss Stella cast a devoted glance toward the corner of the ring where Mr. Cluett, still chatting unconcernedly, had drawn his bathrobe over his shoulders as a sign to the unknown to hurry up, if he wanted a chance to land a "haymaker" on a fighter whose time was money.