With a writhing twist, the tramp seemed to avoid the other man’s hands, and an instant later he seized Billings about the body, flung the fellow’s heels into the air, and hurled him fairly over his head. The building shook and the glasses and bottles behind the bar rattled as Skip came down with a terrible thump, flat on his shoulder blades. The concussion stunned him for a moment, and he lay prone on his back, blinking at the smoky ceiling. After a moment’s silence the witnesses of this remarkable thing uttered a shout. Never had they seen a handsomer piece of work. Slowly Billings sat up, looking around for his antagonist. “Go for him!” he weakly muttered. “Knock the stuffing out of him!” “Hold on, gents!” urged the tramp, once more holding up his hand. “I acknowledge you can do it if you all jump on me. There ain’t no question about that. I’ll take you one at a time; but I throw up the sponge if you’re going to tackle me in a bunch.” “Let me git at him!” urged Tapper Mullin. “Mebbe he can wrastle, but when it comes to handling his dukes with me I think he’ll be out of it. Where’s the gloves, Pete? Bring out the mitts and I will pound him to a pulp!” The prospect of a fistic encounter delighted the rough crowd and they burst into applause, wildly calling for the gloves. “I acknowledge, gents,” said the hobo, “that you’ve seen me at my best. As a wrastler I’ve made my reputation. When it comes to the gloves, I am nothing but a second-rater.” This seemed to increase Mullin’s desire to get at the stranger. “Be quiet as you can, gentlemen,” said Daley, the proprietor, as he fished out a set of hard gloves from beneath the bar. “You know my place is strictly quiet and respectable.” “Where’s my second?” inquired the tramp, as he inspected the gloves. “Ain’t I got no one ter back me up? Is this whole bunch agin’ me?” To the surprise of all, Skip Billings immediately stepped forward. “I’m behind you, pal,” he said. “A man that can throw me over his head is pretty nifty, and I’m goin’ to prophesy that you make it lively for Tapper.” “Thanks!” grinned the hobo, his dark eyes flashing. “Jest you watch out that I git fair play. Help me tie these mitts on, will you?” Billings aided in tying the gloves onto the stranger’s hands. In the meantime, McCord attended to Mullin, who had stripped down for the encounter. “Don’t let him touch you, Tapper,” urged Bingo. “Don’t worry about that,” retorted Mullin. “You’re the only gent around this town that can put me out of business.” The interest of the crowd in the stranger had been thoroughly aroused. They saw now that he was not a bad-looking fellow by any means; indeed, it was possible that, washed up and dressed in decent clothing, he would present a rather attractive appearance. In a few moments both men were ready. The interested spectators were now back on either side against the walls, in order that the boxers might have plenty of room.