Ah, my word! my word! then they got at it. That old Japhra--a rare one, that Gipsy Japhra!--sing out "Cut in! Cut in! little master!" and that quick-boy gives a heave of hisself an' they meet, those two, slapper-dash! slapper-dash! this way! that way! punchin', punchin'! an' they fall away, those two, an' breathe theirselves, an' pant theirselves; an' that foxy one has his mouth all anyhow an' fair roarin' of his breath through it; an' his head all twisty-ways with only one eye for watchin' with; an' they rush those two--my life! they were rare ones! Hit as they come, those two--an' that put the stopper on it. Like stones--_crack!_ like stones--my word on it, their fists met, an' Foxy drop his left arm like it was broke at the elbow. Then he takes it! Like a bull-tarrier!--like a bull-tarrier, my word on it, that quick-boy lep' at him. _One!_ he smash him an' heart him, an' I see that foxy one glaze in his eye an' stagger with it. _Two!_ that quick-boy drive him an' rib him, an' I hear that foxy one grunt an' see him waggle up his hanging arm an' drop it. _Three!_ that quick-boy smash him an' throat him, an' back he goes, that foxy one; an' crash he goes! an' flat he lies--an', my life! to hear the breathing of him! Life of me! there was never a knock-out like it; never one could do it like that quick-boy done it! Never no one as quick as that quick-boy when first along he come _tic-tac! tic-tac! tic-tac!_ left-right! left-right! left-right! Never one could come again after he was bashed like that quick-boy come. Never his like! One of the rare ones, one of the clean-breds, one of the true-blues, one of the all-rights, one of the get-there, stop-there, win-there--one o' the picked! IV Quivering in silence the facing crowds stood while the count went. "Nine!" throated Stingo--scarcely a whisper. Stillness while perhaps five seconds passed. Then Boss Maddox opened his hands towards the ring in an expressive gesture.