"Brayvo, young 'un," said the old fighter, as he threw his arm about Neddy's waist, and helped him to the dressing-room. "Cleanest knock-out I ever see--smack on the point o' the jaw. Never thought you'd 'a' done it. I said there was nothink like pluck, did'n' I? 'Ave a wash now, an' you'll be all the better for the exercise. Give us them gloves--I'm off for the next bout." And he seized another lad, and marched him out. "'Ave a drop o' beer," said one of Neddy's new-won friends, extending a tankard. He took it, though he scarcely felt awake. He was listless and weak, and would not have moved for an hour had he been left alone. But Patsy was brought to, and sneezed loudly, and Neddy was hauled over to shake hands with him. "You give me a 'ell of a doin'," said Neddy, "_I_ never thought I'd beat you." "Beat me? well you ain't, 'ave you? 'Ow?" "Knock-out," answered several at once. "Well, I'm damned," said Patsy Beard.... In the bar, after the evening's business, Neddy sat and looked wistfully at the stout red-faced men who smoked fourpenny cigars and drank special Scotch; but not one noticed him. His luck had not come after all. But there was the second round of bouts, and the final, in a week's time--perhaps it would come then. If he could only win the final--then it _must_ come. Meanwhile he was sick and faint, and felt doubtful about getting home. Outside it was raining hard. He laid his head on the bar table at which he was sitting, and at closing time there they found him asleep. IN BUSINESS. There was a great effervescence of rumor in Cubitt Town when Ted Munsey came into money. Ted Munsey, commonly alluded to as Mrs. Munsey's 'usband, was a moulder with a regular job at Moffat's: a large, quiet man of forty-five, the uncomplaining appurtenance of his wife. This was fitting, for she had married beneath her, her father having been a dock timekeeper.