laughing, he kept running away round the ring. But he was ready all the time and perfectly cool. He kept his right foot behind his left and never crossed his feet. Lumbering after him and playing the game he wanted him to play, came the Tipton Slasher. Then to save his breath Perry at length pulled up. Instantly, Sayers stopped also and plugged him in the face. In the ninth round the Slasher came up to the scratch slowly. His seconds had done their best for him, but his strength was going. It is very exhausting to dash about a grassy ring and hurl ponderous blows at nothing. Once more he tried, but he couldn’t get near Sayers. But now he was too tired to keep running after his opponent, and Sayers stood his ground. The next time the mighty fist shot out he ducked under it again and sent in a smashing blow on the Slasher’s face. In that round he put in at least three perfect hits with every ounce of his weight behind them. At the third the Tipton Slasher staggered, and fell over. It was not a severe knock-down because the big man was badly balanced at the moment, but the spectators could see that he was beaten all the same. Then Sayers hit him as he liked, left and right: no dancing or running away now. The Slasher’s seconds begged him to give in. They saw that it was hopeless, but this he refused to do. He would fight as long as he could see and stand. It is terribly humiliating to be thrashed by a man half your size, but William Perry was brave, and he faced that fact as well as the more pressing one. For he was dreadfully cut about. His seconds carried out all the usual receipts for bringing their man to the scratch again, biting his ears and sluicing him with cold water. The onlookers called out to have the Slasher taken away, but he would not be taken away. Tom Sayers stood in the mid-ring with his arms folded, waiting for his antagonist. He did not in the least want to hurt him, but what was he to do? At last Owen Swift, who was prominent amongst the Slasher’s supporters, got through the ropes into the ring and held up his hand. The sponge was then thrown up from the Slasher’s corner, and Tom Sayers was proclaimed Champion of England. The battle had lasted for an hour and forty-two minutes. The Slasher wept bitterly when Sayers came over to shake hands. He had staked every penny he had on the fight, and was, besides being beaten, utterly ruined. “Something” was done for him afterwards, so that he was able to take the inevitable inn and spent the rest of his days in comparative comfort. He answered the final call of “Time” in January, 1881. CHAPTER XX THE LAST GREAT PRIZE-FIGHT TOM SAYERS AND THE BENICIA BOY