Again Conway drove him into a corner of the ropes, feinted for the stomach. Then there came that first blow that found his chin. Old Jerry saw Denny's body go limp as he crashed his length upon the padded canvas; he saw him try to rise and heard the house screaming for him to take the count. He rested there for a precious instant, swaying on one knee. But his eyes were still glazed when he rose, and again Conway, rushing, beat down that guarding right, and, swinging with all his shoulder weight behind it, found that same spot and dropped him again. Pandemonium broke loose in the upper reaches of the seats, but the silence of the body of the house was deathlike as he lay without stirring. Old Jerry gulped and waited--choked back a sobbing breath as he saw him start to lift himself once more. Upon his hands and knees first, then upon his knees alone. And then, with eyes shut, he struggled up, at the count of ten, and shaped up again. And Conway beat him down. Even the gallery was quiet now. The thud of that stiff-armed jolt went to every corner of that vast room. And the referee was droning out the count again. "--Five--six--seven----" Head sagging between his arms, eyes staring and sightless, The Pilgrim groped out and found the ropes. Once more at the end of the toll he lifted himself--lifted himself by the strength of his shoulders to his legs that tottered beneath him, and then stepped free of the ropes. That time, before Conway could swing, the gong saved him. Again it was Hogarty who was first through the ropes. Effortlessly he stooped and lifted that limp body and carried it across to the stool. They tried to stretch him back against the ropes behind him, and each time his head slumped forward over his knees. Old Jerry turned toward Morehouse and choked--licked his lips and choked again. And Morehouse nodded his head dumbly. "He--he's gone!" he said. Old Jerry sat and stared back at him as though he couldn't understand. He remembered the bit of a red bow in his pocket then; he fumbled inside and found it. He remembered the eyes of the girl who had given it to him, too, that night when she had knelt at his knees. His old fingers closed, viselike, upon the fat man's arm. "But she told me to give him this," he mumbled dully. "Why, she--she said for me to give him this, when he had _Won_." Morehouse stared at the bit of tinseled silk--stared up at Old Jerry's face and back again. And then he leaned over suddenly and picked it up. The next moment he was crowding out from behind the desk--was climbing into the ring. Old Jerry saw him fling fiercely tense words into Hogarty's face, and Hogarty stood back. He knelt before the slack body on the stool and tried to raise the head; he held the bit of bright web before him, but there was no recognition in Denny's eyes. And the old man heard the plump reporter's words, sob-like with excitement: