6.――The rounds were too short and hurried to admit of much in the way of description. Caunt, still eager to be at work, tried his left, but was stopped. Counter-hits with the left followed, but though Nick was a fine counter-hitter, he never exhibited any great relish for that mode of fighting――the most telling in its effects and most exciting to witness of all practised in the P. R. Caunt lashed out with his left, and on Nick’s cleverly avoiding the smash, rushed to in-fighting. Nick, however, pursued his plan of getting down, but Caunt came heavily upon him. Although up to the present time Caunt had not done much execution, yet he was certainly getting the best of the fight, and he maintained his improvement in his style of hitting, substituting straight hits from the shoulder for the overhanded chops which had formerly marked his attempts. 7.――Ward tried to regain the lead――if he had ever had it――and let fly with his left, but he had not sufficient courage to go close to his man, and once again the blow fell short. He stopped Caunt’s attempt at a return with his left, which came pretty heavy and quickly, and on the latter’s rushing in for close work Nick dropped on his knees. There was no blow struck in this round, and Caunt, who was about to deliver, wisely restrained his hand, and with his deep, short laugh, shook his finger menacingly at Ward as he knelt, and walked away. 8.――Up to this period no material damage had been done on either side, few of the hits having more than a skin-deep effect. Ward still preserved his elegant attitude, and tried his left, but did not get home, and Caunt hit short at the body with his right. Nick now steadied himself for mischief, and, after a short pause, threw his left with the quickness of lightning, and caught Caunt over the right eyebrow, on which it left a gaping wound, from which a copious crimson stream flowed over the undamaged optic and down his cheek. Caunt hit out wildly, left and right; Ward, in retreating, fell on his knees, and Caunt tumbled over him. 9.――Atkinson was seen to be busily engaged in stopping the flow of claret from Caunt’s eyebrow when “Time!” was called. At the sound Caunt jumped up vigorously, and continued the contest with a figurehead anything but improved by the crimson stain which marked its right side. Nick smiled at his handiwork, waited for his man, and as Caunt came plunging in, met him with a heavy hit from the left on the cheek, opening an ancient wound originally inflicted by Brassey, and starting a fresh tap of claret. Caunt was stung by the hits, and dashed in left and right; but Ward adhered to his dropping tactics, and again fell on his knees, amidst strong expressions of disapprobation.