Some experienced youth, probably Cokeson himself, had made arrangements as to seconds, time-keeper, judges, and referee; and, though there was no ring of ropes and stakes, a twenty-four-foot square had been marked out and inclosed by forms and benches. Seating was provided for the “officials” and seniors, and two stools for the principals. A couple of bowls of water, sponges, and towels lent a business-like air to the scene. To his delight, Dam discovered that Delorme was to be his second—a person of sound advice, useful ministrations, and very present help in time of trouble…. Delorme led him to his stool in an angle of the square of benches, bade him spread wide his arms and legs and breathe deeply “for all he was worth, with his eyes closed and his thoughts fixed on jolly things”. Feeling himself the cynosure of neighbouring eyes and able to hear the comments of the crowd, the last part of his second’s instructions was a little difficult of strict observation. However, he continued to think of licking Harberth—the “jolliest” thing he could conceive, until his mind wandered home to Lucille, and he enhanced the imaginary jollity by conceiving her present…. “Sturdy little brute,” observed a big Fifth Form boy seated with a couple of friends on the bench beside him, “but I’d lay two to one in sovs. (if I had ’em) that he doesn’t last a single round with Harberth”. “Disgrace to Harberth if he doesn’t eat the kid alive,” responded the other. “Got a good jaw and mouth, though,” said the third. “Going to die hard, you’ll see. Good little kid.” “Fancy funking a bottled frog or something and fighting a chap who can give him about four years, four inches, and four stone,” observed the first speaker. “Yes. Queer little beast. He knocked Harberth clean out, they say. Perhaps his father has had him properly taught and he can really box. Ever seen him play footer? Nippiest little devil _I_ ever saw. Staunch too. Rum go,” commented his friend. Dam thought of Sergeant Havlan and his son, the punching-ball, and the fighting days at Monksmead. Perhaps he could “really” box, after all. Anyhow he knew enough to hit straight and put his weight into it, to guard chin and mark, to use his feet, duck, dodge, and side step. Suppose Harberth knew as much? Well—since he was far stronger, taller, and heavier, the only hope of success lay in the fact that he was connected with the Snake—from whom mere blows in the open would be welcome. Anyhow he would die or win. The positive joy of fighting _It_ in the glorious day and open air, instead of in the Bottomless Pit—bound, stifled, mad with Fear—none could realize…. Bully Harberth entered the ring accompanied by Shanner, who looked like a Sixth Form boy and was in the Shell. Harberth wore a thick sweater and looked very strong and heavy. “If the little kid lasts three rounds with _that_” observed Cokeson to Coxe Major, “he ought to be chaired.”