"Well sure, that's the Gospel truth"; and Michael grinned. "By gosh, that's the time I had to skip out of Chicago. A little election fuss ye understand," and he chuckled. "Set down. What'll ye drink?" and the huge hand swung two chairs within reach. "No," said Jim. "I'm not drinking to-day; but I want to tell you that I was only a kid when you licked me. I swore that some day I'd meet you and have another try. Well, I've filled out some in the last seven years, an' some day, when ye feel like it, we might put on the gloves together." Mike chuckled, "Now you're talking! What's the matter with right now?" and he pointed to a room farther back. "But, say, ye ain't in training, are ye?" "No; are you?" "No." "Then come on." Mike opened the next door and led the way into a larger room, with the fixings of a regular boxing academy, followed by his friends and one or two additional customers from the bar room. Hopkins followed Hartigan, and was filled, apparently, with strange and mixed emotions. "Really, Mr. Hartigan, as President of the Board of Deacons, I must protest against this whole shocking procedure." Then, in a different tone: "But, as a man, by jinks! I'm going to see it through." "Why not?" said Jim. "Sure it's simple and easy. In about three rounds, I'll get him or he'll get me; then we'll shake hands and all be good friends ever after. It couldn't have happened better." Both men stripped to the waist, and the contrast was as great as the resemblance. Broad, equally broad, and superbly muscled, the saloon-keeper was, if anything, heavier, but there was just a suspicion of bloat over all his frame. Jim was clean built, statuesque--a Jason rather than a Hermes. He was by six inches taller, but the other had just as long a reach. And, as the officious patrons of the "pub" strapped on the gloves and made the usual preparation of wet sponge and towel, it seemed in all respects an even match--in all respects but one; Jim was twenty-odd, Mike was forty-odd. The small man with a squeaky voice installed himself as timekeeper. He struck the gong, and the boxers met. Jim always smiled and bared his teeth while boxing. Mike was one of the bull-dog jaw; he kept his lips tight shut, and his small eyes twinkled with every appearance of rage. On the first round, the great experience of the pugilist enabled him to land one or two heavy jolts, and when the gong sounded the time-limit, Jim had got rather the worst of it. The second round opened much like the first. Jim landed on Mike's under jaw more than once; and Mike got in a body blow that was something to think about. It was the third round that told the tale. What chance in a fight has forty-five against twenty-five? The extra weight of the prize fighter was mere softness. His wind was gone; and half the time had not passed before Jim landed under his left jaw the classic punch that Mike had one time given him, and Mike went down like a sack of meal.