“Anyhow he’s yours if you go on like this. Keep your head and don’t worry about his. Stick to his body till you have a clear chance at the point of his jaw.” “Seconds out of the ring. _Time!_” cried the time-keeper. This round was less fortunate for the smaller boy. Harberth’s second had apparently given him some good advice, for he kept his mark covered and used his left both to guard and to hit. Also he had learned something from Dam, and, on one occasion as the latter went at his face with a straight left, he dropped the top of his head towards him and made a fierce hooking punch at Dam’s body. Luckily it was a little high, but it winded him for a moment, and had his opponent rushed him then, Dam could have done nothing at all. Just as “Time” was called, Harberth swung a great round-arm blow at Dam which would have knocked him head over heels had not he let his knees go just in time and ducked under it, hitting his foe once again on the mark with all his strength. “How d’you feel?” asked Delorme as Dam went to his stool. “Happy,” said he. “Don’t talk piffle,” was the reply. “How do you feel? Wind all right? Groggy at all?” “Not a bit,” said Dam. “I am enjoying it.” And so he was. Hitherto the Snake had had him bound and helpless. As it pursued him in nightmares, his knees had turned to water, great chains had bound his arms, devilish gags had throttled him, he could not breathe, and he had not had a chance to escape nor to fight. He could not even scream for help. He could only cling to a shelf. _Now_ he had a chance. His limbs were free, his eyes were open, he could breathe, think, act, defend himself and _attack_. “Seconds out of the ring. _Time!_” called the time-keeper and Delorme ceased fanning with the towel, splashed a spongeful of water in Dam’s face and backed away with his stool. Harberth seemed determined to make an end. He rushed at his opponent whirling his arms, breathing stertorously, and scowling savagely. Guarding hurt Dam’s arms, he had no time to hit, and in ducking he was slow and got a blow (aimed at his chin) in the middle of his forehead. Down he went like a nine-pin, but was up as quickly, and ready for Harberth who had rushed at him in the act of rising, while the referee shouted “Stand clear”. As he came on, Dam fell on one knee and drove at his mark again. Harberth grunted and placed his hands on the smitten spot. Judging time and distance well, Dam hit with all his force at the bully’s chin and he went down like a log. Rising majestically, the time-keeper lifted up his voice and counted: “_One—two—three—four—five—six”_—and Harberth opened his eyes, sat up, “_seven—eight—nine_”—and lay down again; and just as Dam was about to leap for joy and the audience to roar their approval—instead of the fatal “_OUT_” the time-keeper called “_Time_”.