In a fit of uncontrollable passion Ben made a blind lunge at his companion in punishment, and by the very violence and suddenness of the onset he almost swept him off his feet. But Hal’s lightness and agility stood him in good stead, and, after yielding for a moment, he braced himself for the contest and held his ground. He was the taller of the two boys, the more athletic and the more agile. But Ben’s greater weight and stockiness gave him the advantage in the first onrush, and, had he been able skilfully to follow up the attack, his quick victory would have been a foregone conclusion. As it was, the combatants were not unequally matched. The onlookers, augmented in numbers by other workmen who had been attracted to the scene, gathered now in the conventional ring about the fighters. The primal instinct, only veneered by centuries of civilization, showed itself in the avidity with which they gazed on the combat, and in the calls and cries of encouragement they gave, each to his individual favorite. The boys were now struggling and writhing in each other’s arms. A full minute they wrestled so; then came the fall. It was swift, sudden and disastrous. The crash of it echoed through the great, empty hall. In disentangling himself from the prone figure beneath him Ben met with no resistance. His antagonist lay with closed eyes, limp and insensible, on the armory floor. At this moment Superintendent McCrae came pushing his way through the narrow ring of spectators. “What’s all this about?” he asked. “What’s happened?” “It’s a fight,” some one answered. “The stout fellow put the other one to sleep.” The superintendent turned his gaze from the swiftly paling countenance of the boy on the floor to the hardly less colorless face of his victorious antagonist. “A fight, is it!” he exclaimed. “Mayhap and it’s a tragedy.” He knelt on the floor at Hal’s side, felt of his wrists, and tore open his collar and jacket. “Here you, Bill!” he called, “run for some water. And you, Henry, telephone for a doctor, and get a cab. Who the dickens are these fellows, anyway?” Ben began to stammer an answer, but before any intelligible words had left his mouth the superintendent interrupted him. “Oh, I know!” he exclaimed. “You’re Mr. Barriscale’s son, and this is Captain McCormack’s boy. I had the letter. Here, Bill, give me the water.” He poured a little from the glass into his hand and dashed it into Hal’s face, and repeated the process twice. Then he began chafing the boy’s wrists. Some one suggested that the victim be carried to a bench or chair. “No,” replied McCrae. “Let him lie here. He’s better off on his back till the doctor comes. Some one lend me a jacket, though, to put under his head.” In a second Ben had stripped off his coat and handed it to the superintendent, who folded it and placed it gently under Hal’s head.